JHE   STORIES 

MOTHER   NATURE   TOLD   HER 
CHILDREN 


JANE    ANDREWS 

AUTHOR  OF  "SEVEN  LITTLE  SISTERS,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON   1891 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10  MILK  STREET  NEXT  "  THE  OLD  SOUTH  MEETING-HOUSE  " 

NEW  YORK  CHARLES  T.  DILLINGHAM 

718  AND  720  BROADWAY 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY  LEE  AND  SHBPARD. 


All  rights  reservtd. 


THE  STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD  HER  CHILDREN. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  AMBER  BEADS 5 

THE  NEW  LIFE 15 

THE  TALK  OF  THE  TREES  THAT  STAND  IN  THE  VILLAGE 

STREET 25 

How  THE  INDIAN  CORN  GROWS 35 

WATER-LILIES 43 

THE  CARRYING  TRADE 49 

SEA-LIFE 61 

WHAT  THE  FROST  GIANTS  DID  TO  NANNIE'S  RUN     .    .  85 
How  QUERCUS  ALBA  WENT  TO  EXPLORE  THE   UNDER- 
WORLD, AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 99 

TREASURE-BOXES 115 

A  PEEP  INTO  ONE  OF  GOD'S  STOREHOUSES 125 

THE  HIDDEN  LIGHT 139 

SIXTY-TWO  LITTLE  TADPOLES 145 

GOLDEN-ROD  AND  ASTERS 155 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    AMBER    BEADS 


THE    STORIES    MOTHER    NATURE 
TOLD    HER    CHILDREN 


THE    STORY    OF    THE   AMBER    BEADS 


Do  you  know  Mother  Nature  ?  She  it  is  to 
whom  God  has  given  the  care  of  the  earth,  and  all 
that  grows  in  or  upon  it,  just  as  he  has  given  to 
your  mother  the  care  of  her  family  of  boys  and 
girls. 

You  may  think  that  Mother  Nature,  like  the 
famous  "old  woman  who  lived  in  the  shoe,"  has 
so  many  children  that  she  doesn't  know  what  to 
do.  But  you  will  know  better  when  you  become 
acquainted  with  her,  and  learn  how  strong  she  is, 
and  how  active ;  how  she  can  really  be  in  fifty 
places  at  once,  taking  care  of  a  sick  tree,  or  a 
baby  flower  just  born ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
building  underground  palaces,  guiding  the  steps  of 


8  STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

little  travellers  setting  out  on  long  journeys,  and 
sweeping,  dusting,  and  arranging  her  great  house, 
—  the  earth.  And  all  the  while,  in  the  midst  of 
her  patient  and  never-ending  work,  she  will  tell 
us  the  most  charming  and  marvellous  stories  of 
ages  ago  when  she  was  young,  or  of  the  treasures 
that  lie  hidden  in  the  most  distant  and  secret 
closets  of  her  palace;  just  such  stories  as  you 
all  like  so  well  to  hear  your  mother  tell  when  you 
gather  round  her  in  the  twilight. 

A  few  of  these  stories  which  she  has  told  to  me, 
I  am  about  to  tell  you,  beginning  with  this  one. 

I  know  a  little  Scotch  girl :  she  lives  among  the 
Highlands.  Her  home  is  hardly  more  than  a  hut ; 
her  food,  broth  and  bread.  Her  father  keeps  sheep 
on  the  hillsides ;  and,  instead  of  wearing  a  coat, 
wraps  himself  in  his  plaid,  for  protection  from  the 
cold  winds  that  drive  before  them  great  clouds  of 
mist  and  snow  among  the  mountains. 

As  for  Jeanie  herself  (you  must  be  careful  to 
spell  her  name  with  an  ea,  for  that  is  Scotch 
fashion),  her  yellow  hair  is  bound  about  with  a 
little  snood ;  her  face  is  browned  by  exposure  to 


STORY  OF  THE  AMBER  BEADS  9 

the  weather;  and  her  hands  are  hardened  by 
work,  for  she  helps  her  mother  to  cook  and  sew, 
to  spin  and  weave. 

One  treasure  little  Jeanie  has  which  many  a 
lady  would  be  proud  to  wear.  It  is  a  necklace  of 
amber  beads,  —  "  lamour  beads,"  old  Elsie  calls 
them ;  that  is  the  name  they  went  by  when  she 
was  young. 

You  have,  perhaps,  seen  amber,  and  know  its 
rich,  sunshiny  color,  and  its  fragrance  when 
rubbed  ;  and  do  you  also  know  that  rubbing  will 
make  amber  attract  things  somewhat  as  a  magnet 
does  ?  Jeanie's  beads  had  all  these  properties, 
but  some  others  besides,  wonderful  and  lovely; 
and  it  is  of  those  particularly  that  I  wish  to  tell 
you.  Each  bead  has  inside  of  it  some  tiny  thing, 
incased  as  if  it  had  grown  in  the  amber  ;  and  Jeanie 
is  never  tired  of  looking  at,  and  wondering  about, 
them.  Here  is  one  with  a  delicate  bit  of  ferny 
moss  shut  up,  as  it  were,  in  a  globe  of  yellow  light. 
In  another  is  the  tiniest  fly,  —  his  little  wings  out- 
spread, and  raised  for  flight.  Again,  she  can  show 
us  a  bee  lodged  in  one  bead  that  looks  like  solid 
honey,  and  a  little  bright-winged  beetle  in  another. 


10         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

This  one  holds  two  slender  pine-needles  lying 
across  each  other,  and  here  we  see  a  single  scale 
of  a  pine-cone ;  while  yet  another  shows  an  atom 
of  an  acorn-cup,  fit  for  a  fairy's  use.  I  wish  you 
could  see  the  beads,  for  I  cannot  tell  you  the  half 
of  their  beauty.  Now,  where  do  you  suppose 
they  came  from,  and  how  did  little  Scotch  Jeanie 
come  into  possession  of  such  a  treasure  ? 

All  she  knows  about  it  is,  that  her  grandfather, 
—  old  Kenneth,  who  cowers  now  all  day  in  the 
chimney-corner,  —  once,  years  ago  when  he  was 
a  young  lad,  went  down  upon  the  seashore  after  a 
great  storm,  hoping  to  help  save  something  from 
the  wreck  of  the  "  Goshawk,"  that  had  gone 
ashore  during  the  night ;  and  there  among  the 
slippery  seaweeds  his  foot  had  accidentally  un- 
covered a  clear,  shining  lump  of  amber,  in  which 
all  these  little  creatures  were  embedded.  Now, 
Kenneth  loved  a  pretty  Highland  lass;  and,  when 
she  promised  to  be  his  bride,  he  brought  her  a 
necklace  of  amber  beads.  He  had  carved  them 
himself  out  of  his  lump  of  amber,  working  care- 
fully to  save  in  each  bead  the  prettiest  insect  or 
moss,  and  thinking,  while  he  toiled  hour  after 


STORY  OF  THE  AMBER  BEADS  II 

hour,  of  the  delight  with  which  he  should  see  his 
bride  wear  them.  That  bride  was  Jeanie's  grand- 
mother ;  and  when  she  died  last  year,  she  said, 
"Let  little  Jeanie  have  my  lamour  beads,  and 
keep  them  as  long  as  she  lives." 

But  what  puzzled  Jeanie  was,  how  the  amber 
came  to  be  on  the  seashore ;  and,  most  of  all, 
how  the  bees  and  mosses  came  inside  of  it. 
Should  you  like  to  know  ?  If  you  would,  that  is 
one  of  Mother  Nature's  stories,  and  she  will 
gladly  tell  it.  Hear  what  she  answers  to  our 
questions  :  — 

"  I  remember  a  time,  long,  long  before  you  were 
born,  —  long,  even,  before  any  men  were  living 
upon  the  earth ;  then  these  Scotch  Highlands, 
as  you  call  them,  where  little  Jeanie  lives,  were 
covered  with  forests.  There  were  oaks,  poplars, 
beeches,  and  pines  ;  and  among  them  one  kind 
of  pine,  tall  and  stately,  from  which  a  shining 
yellow  gum  flowed,  just  as  you  have  seen  little 
drops  of  sticky  gum  exude  from  our  own  pine- 
trees.  This  beautiful  yellow  gum  was  fragrant ; 
and,  as  the  thousands  of  little  insects  fluttered 
about  it  in  the  warm  sunshine,  they  were  at- 


12         S 'TORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

tracted  by  its  pleasant  odor,  —  perhaps,  too,  by 
its  taste,  —  and  once  alighted  upon  it,  they  stuck 
fast,  and  could  not  get  away;  while  the  great 
yellow  drops  oozing  out  surrounded,  and  at  last 
covered,  them  entirely.  So,  too,  wind-blown  bits 
of  moss,  leaves,  acorns,  cones,  and  little  sticks 
were  soon  securely  imbedded  in  the  fast-flowing 
gum ;  and,  as  time  went  by,  it  hardened  and 
hardened  more  and  more.  And  this  is  amber." 

"  That  is  well  told,  Mother  Nature ;  but  it  does 
not  explain  how  Kenneth's  lump  of  amber  came 
to  be  on  the  seashore." 

"  Wait,  then,  for  the  second  part  of  the  story. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  that,  in  those  very  old 
times,  the  land  sometimes  sank  down  into  the 
sea,  even  so  deep  that  the  water  covered  the 
very  mountain-tops ;  and  then,  after  ages,  it  was 
slowly  lifted  up  again,  to  sink  indeed,  perhaps, 
yet  again  and  again? 

"  You  can  hardly  believe  it,  yet  I  myself  was 
there  to  see;  and  I  remember  well  when  the 
great  forests  of  the  North  of  Scotland  —  the  oaks, 
the  poplars,  and  the  amber-pines  —  were  lowered 
into  the  deep  sea.  There,  lying  at  the  bottom 


STORY  OF  THE  AMBER  BEADS  13 

of  the  ocean,  the  wood  and  the  gum  hardened 
like  stone,  and  only  the  great  storms  can  disturb 
them  as  they  lie  half  buried  in  the  sand.  It  was 
one  of  those  great  storms  that  brought  Kenneth's 
lump  of  amber  to  land." 

If  we  could  only  walk  on  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  what  treasures  we  might  find ! 


THE 
NEW    LIFE 


THE    NEW    LIFE 


IT  is  May, — almost  the  end  of  May,  indeed, 
and  the  Mayflowers  have  finished  their  blooming 
for  this  year.  It  is  growing  too  warm  for  those 
delicate  violets  and  hepaticas  who  dare  to  brave 
even  March  winds,  and  can  bear  snow  better 
than  summer  heats. 

Down  at  the  edge  of  the  pond  the  tall  water- 
grasses  and  rushes  are  tossing  their  heads  a  little 
in  the  wind,  and  swinging  a  little,  lightly  and 
lazily,  with  the  motion  of  the  water;  but  the 
water  is  almost  clear  and  still  this  morning, 
scarcely  rippled,  and  in  its  beautiful,  broad  mirror 
reflecting  the  chestnut-trees  on  the  bank,  and 
the  little  points  of  land  that  run  out  from  the 
shore,  and  give  foothold  to  the  old  pines  standing 
guard  day  and  night,  summer  and  winter,  to 
watch  up.  the  pond  and  down. 


1 8         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

Do  you  think  now  that  you  know  how  the  pond 
looks  in  the  sunshine  of  this  May  morning  ? 

If  we  come  close  to  the  edge  where  the  rushes 
are  growing,  and  look  down  through  the  clear 
water,  we  shall  see  some  uncouth  and  clumsy 
black  bugs  crawling  upon  the  bottom  of  the  pond. 
They  have  six  legs,  and  are  covered  with  a  coat 
of  armor  laid  plate  over  plate.  It  looks  hard  and 
horny ;  and  the  insect  himself  has  a  dull,  heavy 
way  with  him,  and  might  be  called  very  stupid 
were  it  not  for  his  eagerness  in  catching  and 
eating  every  little  fly  and  mosquito  that  comes 
within  his  reach.  His  eyes  grow  fierce  and 
almost  bright ;  and  he  seizes  with  open  mouth, 
and  devours  all  day  long,  if  he  can  find  any 
thing  suited  to  his  taste. 

I  am  afraid  you  will  think  he  is  not  very 
interesting,  and  will  not  care  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance. But,  let  me  tell  you,  something  very 
wonderful  is  about  to  happen  to  him  ;  and  if  you 
stay  and  watch  patiently,  you  will  see  what  I  saw 
once,  and  have  never  forgotten. 

Here  he  is  crawling  in  mud  under  the  water 
this  May  morning :  out  over  the  pond  shoot  the 


THE  NEW  LIFE  19 

flat  water-boatmen,  and  the  water-spiders  dance 
and  skip  as  if  the  pond  were  a  floor  of  glass ; 
while  here  and  there  skims  a  blue  dragon-fly, 
with  his  fine,  firm  '  wings  that  look  like  the 
thinnest  gauze,  but  are  really  wondrously  strong 
for  all  their  delicate  appearance. 

The  dull,  black  bug  sees  all  these  bright,  agile 
insects ;  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  feels 
discontented  with  his  own  low  place  in  the  mud. 
A  longing  creeps  through  him  that  is  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  customary  longing  for  mosquitoes 
and  flies.  "  I  will  creep  up  the  stem  of  this 
rush,"  he  thinks;  "and  perhaps,  when  I  reach 
the  surface  of  the  water,  I  can  dart  like  the  little 
flat  boatmen,  or,  better  than  all,  shoot  through 
the  air  like  the  blue-winged  dragon-fly."  But,  as 
as  he  crawls  toilsomely  up  the  slippery  stem, 
the  feeling  that  he  has  no  wings  like  the  dragon- 
fly makes  him  discouraged  and  almost  despair- 
ing. At  last,  however,  with  much  labor  he  has 
reached  the  surface,  has  crept  out  of  the  water, 
and,  clinging  to  the  green  stem,  feels  the  spring 
air  and  sunshine  all  about  him.  Now  let  him 
take  passage  with  the  boatmen,  or  ask  some  of 


20        STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

the  little  spiders  to  dance.  Why  doesn't  he 
begin  to  enjoy  himself? 

Alas!  see  his  sad  disappointment.  After  all 
this  toil,  after  passing  some  splendid  chances  of 
good  breakfasts  on  the  way  up,  and  spending  all 
his  strength  on  this  one  exploit,  he  finds  the 
fresh  air  suffocating  him,  and  a  most  strange 
and  terrible  feeling  coming  over  him,  as  his  coat- 
of-mail,  which  until  now  was  always  kept  wet, 
shrinks,  and  seems  even  cracking  off  while  the 
warm  air  dries  it. 

"  Oh,"  thinks  the  poor  bug,  "  I  must  die  !  It 
was  folly  in  me  to  crawl  up  here.  The  mud  and 
the  water  were  good  enough  for  my  brothers, 
and  good  enough  for  me  too,  had  I  only  known 
it;  and  now  I  am  too  weak,  and  feel  too 
strangely,  to  attempt  going  down  again  the  way 
I  came  up." 

See  how  uneasy  he  grows,  feeling  about  in 
doubt  and  dismay,  for  a  darkness  is  coming  over 
his  eyes.  It  is  the  black  helmet,  a  part  of  his 
coat-of-mail ;  it  has  broken  off  at  the  top,  and  is 
falling  down  over  his  face.  A  minute  more,  and 
it  drops  below  his  chin  ;  and  what  is  his  aston- 


THE  NEW  LIFE  21 

ishment  to  find,  that,  as  his  old  face  breaks  away, 
a  new  one  comes  in  its  place,  larger,  much  more 
beautiful,  and  having  two  of  the  most  admirable 
eyes!  —  two,  I  say,  because  they  look  like  two, 
but  each  of  them  is  made  up  of  hundreds  of 
little  eyes.  They  stand  out  globe-like  on  each 
side  of  his  head,  and  look  about  over  a  world 
unknown  and  wonderful  to  the  dull,  black  bug 
who  lived  in  the  mud.  The  sky  seems  bluer, 
the  sunshine  brighter,  and  the  nodding  grass  and 
flowers  more  gay  and  graceful.  Now  he  lifts 
this  new  head  to  see  more  of  the  great  world  ; 
and  behold  !  as  he  moves,  he  is  drawing  himself 
out  of  the  old  suit  of  armor,  and  from  two  neat 
little  cases  at  its  sides  come  two  pairs  of  wings, 
folded  up  like  fans,  and  put  away  here  to  be 
ready  for  use  when  the  right  time  should  come  : 
still  half  folded  they  are,  and  must  be  care- 
fully spread  open  and  smoothed  for  use.  And 
while  he  trembles  with  surprise,  see  how  with 
every  movement  he  is  escaping  from  the  old 
armor,  and  drawing  from  their  sheaths  fine  legs, 
longer  and  far  more  beautifully  made  and  colored 
than  the  old ;  and  a  slender  body  that  was  packed 


22         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

away  like  a  spy-glass,  and  is  now  drawn  slowly 
out,  one  part  after  another ;  until  at  last  the  dark 
coat-of-mail  dangles  empty  from  the  rushes,  and 
above  it  sits  a  dragon-fly  with  great,  wondering 
eyes,  long,  slender  body,  and  two  pairs  of  delicate, 
gauzy  wings,  —  fine  and  firm  as  the  very  ones 
he  had  been  watching  but  an  hour  ago. 

The  poor  black  bug  wh<?  thought  he  was  dying 
was  only  passing  out  of  his  old  life  to  be  born 
into  a  higher  one;  and  see  how  much  brighter 
and  more  beautiful  it  is  ! 

And  now  shall  I  tell  you  how,  months  ago, 
the  mother  dragon-fly  dropped  into  the  water 
her  tiny  eggs,  which  lay  there  in  the  mud,  and 
by  and  by  hatched  out  the  dark,  crawling  bugs, 
so  unlike  the  mother  that  she  does  not  ^Jcnow 
them  for  her  children,  and,  flying  over  the  pond, 
looks  down  through  the  water  where  they  crawl 
among  the  rushes,  and  has  not  a  single  word  to 
say  to  them  ;  until,  in  due  time,  they  find  their 
way  up  to  the  air,  and  pass  into  the  new  winged 
life. 

If  you  will  go  to  some  pond  when  spring  is 
ending  or  summer  beginning,  and  find  among 


THE  NEW  LIFE  23 

the  water-grasses  such  an  insect  as  I  have  told 
you  of,  you  may  see  all  this  for  yourselves  ;  and 
you  will  say  with  me,  dear  children,  that  noth- 
ing you  have  ever  known  is  more  wonderful. 


THE    TALK    OF    THE    TREES    THAT    STAND 
IN    THE    VILLAGE    STREET 


THE   TALK  OF   THE   TREES   THAT    STAND 
IN    THE  VILLAGE    STREET 


How  still  it  is  !  Nobody  in  the  village  street, 
the  children  all  at  school,  and  the  very  dogs 
sleeping  lazily  in  the  sunshine.  Only  a  south 
wind  blows  lightly  through  the  trees,  lifting  the 
great  fans  of  the  horse-chestnut,  tossing  the 
slight  branches  of  the  elm  against  the  sky  like 
single  feathers  of  a  great  plume,  and  swinging 
out  fragrance  from  the  heavy-hanging  linden- 
blossoms. 

Through  the  silence  there  is  a  little  murmur, 
like  a  low  song.  It  is  the  song  of  the  trees  : 
each  has  its  own  voice,  which  may  be  known 
from  all  others  by  the  ear  that  has  learned  how 
to  listen. 

The  topmost  branches  of  the  elm  are  talking 
of  the  sky, —  of  those  highest  white  clouds  that 

27 


28         STOIVES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

float  like  tresses  of  silver  hair  in  the  far  blue,  of 
the  sunrise  gold  and  the  rose-color  of  sunset  that 
always  rest  upon  them  most 'lovingly.  But  down 
deep  in  the  heart  of  the  great  branches  you  may 
hear  something  quite  different,  and  not  less 
sweet. 

"  Peep  under  my  leaves,"  sings  the  elm-tree, 
"out  at  the  ends  of  my  broadest  branches. 
What  hangs  there  so  soft  and  gray  ?  Who 
comes  with  a  flash  of  wings  and  gleam  of  golden 
breast  among  the  dark  leaves,  and  sits  above 
the  gray  hanging  nest  to  sing  his  full,  sweet 
tune  ?  Who  worked  there  together  so  happily 
all  the  May-time,  with  gray  honeysuckle  fibres, 
twining  the  little  nest,  until  there  it  hung 
securely  over  the  road,  bound  and  tied  and 
woven  firmly  to  the  slender  twigs  ?  so  slender 
that  the  squirrels  even  cannot  creep  down  for 
the  eggs ;  much  less  can  Jack  or  Neddy,  who  are 
so  fond  of  birds'-nesting,  ever  hope  to  reach  the 
home  of  our  golden  robin. 

"  There  my  leaves  shelter  him  like  a  roof  from 
rain  and  from  sunshine.  I  rock  the  cradle  when 
the  father  and  mother  are  away  and  the  little 


THE   TALK  OF  THE   TREES  29 

ones  cry,  and  in  my  softest  tone  I  sing  to  them  ; 
yet  they  are  never  quite  satisfied  with  me,  but 
beat  their  wings,  and  stretch  out  their  heads, 
and  cannot  be  happy  until  they  hear  their  father. 

"The  squirrel,  who  lives  in  the  hole  where 
the  two  great  branches  part,  hears  what  I  say, 
and  curls  up  his  tail,  while  he  turns  his  bright 
eyes  towards  the  swinging  nest  which  he  can 
never  reach." 

The  fanning  wind  wafts  across  the  road  the 
voice  of  the  old  horse-chestnut,  who  also  has  a 
word  to  say  about  the  birds'-nests. 

"When  my  blossoms  were  fresh,  white  pyra- 
mids, came  a  swift  flutter  of  wings  about  them 
one  day,  and  a  dazzlingly  beautiful  little  bird 
thrust  his  long,  delicate  bill  among  the  flowers  ; 
and  while  he  held  himself  there  in  the  air  with- 
out touching  his  tiriy  feet  to  twig  or  stem,  but 
only  by  the  swift  fanning  of  long,  green-tinted 
wings,  I  offered  him  my  best  flowers  for  his 
breakfast,  and  bowed  my  great  leaves  as  a  wel- 
come to  him.  The  dear  little  thing  had  been 
here  before,  while  yet  the  sticky  brown  buds 
which  wrap  up  my  leaves  had  not  burst  open  to 


30         STORIES  MOTH!. R  .XATURE   TOLD 

the  warm  sunshine.  He  and  his  mate,  whose 
feather  dress  was  not  so  fine  as  his,  gathered  the 
gum  from  the  outside  of  the  buds,  and  pulled 
the  warm  wool  from  the  inside ;  and  I  could 
watch  them  as  they  flew  away  to  the  maple 
yonder,  for  then  the  trees  that  stand  between 
us  had  no  leaves  to  hide  the  maple,  as  they  do 
now. 

"Back  and  forth  flew  the  birds  from  the  top- 
most maple-branch  to  my  opening  buds;  and 
day  by  day  I  saw  a  little  nest  growing,  very 
small  and  round,  lined  warmly  with  wool  from 
my  buds,  and  thatched  all  over  the  outside  with 
bits  of  lichen,  gray  and  green,  to  match  what 
grew  on  the  maple-branches  about  it ;  and  this 
thatch  was  glued  on  with  the  gum  from  my 
brown  buds.  When  it  was  finished,  it  was  deli- 
cate enough  for  the  cradle  of  a  little  princess, 
and  the  outside  was  so  carefully  matched  to  the 
tree  by  lichens,  that  the  sharpest  eyes  from  below 
could  not  detect  it.  What  a  safer  snug  home  for 
the  humming-birds ! 

"  By  the  time  the  two  tiny  eggs  were  laid,  I 
could  no  longer  see  the  nest,  for  the  thick  foliage 


THE   TALK  OF  THE   TREES  31 

of  other  trees  had  built  up  a  green  wall  between 
me  and  it.  But  for  many  days  the  mother-bird 
staid  away,  and  the  father  came  alone  to  drink 
honey  from  my  blossom-cups :  so  I  knew  that 
the-  eggs  were  hatching  under  her  warm  folded 
wings,  for  I  have  seen  such  things  before  among 
my  own  branches  in  the  robins'  nests  and  the 
bluebirds'. 

"  Now  my  flowers  are  all  gone,  and  in  their 
place  the  nuts  are  growing  in  their  prickly  balls. 
I  have  nothing  to  tempt  the  humming-bird,  and 
he  never  visits  me  :  only  the  yellow  birds  hop 
gayly  from  branch  to  branch,  and  the  robins  come 
sometimes."  And  the  horse-chestnut  sighed,  for 
he  missed  the  humming-bird  ;  and  he  flapped  his 
great  leaves  in  the  very  face  of  the  lioden- 
blossoms,  and  forgot  to  say  "  Excuse  me."  But 
the  linden  is  now,  and  for  many  days,  full  of 
sweetness,  and  will  not  answer  ungraciously  even 
so  careless  a  touch. 

Yes,  the  linden  is  full  of  sweetness,  and  sends 
out  the  fragrance  from  his  blossoms  in  through 
the  chamber  windows,  and  down  upon  the  people 
who  pass  in  the  street  below.  And  he  tells 


32         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

all  the  time  his  story  of  how  his  pink-covered 
leaf-buds  opened  in  the  spring  mornings,  and 
unfolded  the  fresh  green  leaves,  which  were  so 
tender  and  full  of  green  juices  that  it  was  no 
wonder  the  mother-moth  had  thought  the  branches 
a  good  place  whereon  to  lay  her  eggs ;  for  as  soon 
as  they  should  be  all  laid,  she  would  die,  and 
there  would  be  no  one  to.  provide  food  for  her 
babies  when  they  should  creep  out. 

"  So  the  nice  mother-moth  made  a  toilsome 
journey  up  my  great  trunk,"  sung  the  linden, 
"and  left  her  eggs  where  she  knew  the  freshest 
green  leaves  would  be  coming  out  by  the  time 
the  young  ones  should  leave  the  eggs. 

"And  they  came  out  Indeed,  somewhat  to  my 
sorrow ;  for  instead  of  being,  like  their  mother, 
sober,  well-behaved  little  moths,  they  were  green 
canker-worms,  and  such  hungry  little  things,  that 
I  really  began  to  fear  I  should  have  not  a  whole 
leaf  left  upon  me  ;  when  one  day  they  spun  for 
themselves  fine  silken  ropes,  and  swung  them- 
selves down  from  leaf  to  leaf,  and  from  branch 
to  branch,  and  in  a  day  or  two  were  all  gone. 

"A  little  flaxen-haired  girl  sat  on  the   broad 


THE   TALK  OF  THE   TREES  33 

doorstep  at  my  feet,  and  caught  the  canker-worms 
in  her  white  apron.  She  liked  to  see  them  hump 
up  their  backs,  and  measure  off  the  inches  of 
her  white  checked  apron  with  their  little  green 
bodies.  And  I,  although  I  liked  them  well 
enough  at  first,  was  not  sorry  to  lose  them  when 
they  went.  I  heard  the  child's  mother  telling 
her  that  they  had  come  down  to  make  for  them- 
selves beds  in  the  earth,  where  they  would  sleep 
until  the  early  spring,  and  wake  to  find  them- 
selves grown  into  moths  just  like  their  mothers, 
who  climbed  up  the  tree  to  lay  eggs.  We  shall 
see  when  next  spring  comes  if  that  is  so.  Now, 
since  they  went,  I  have  done  my  best  to  refresh 
my  leaves,  and  keep  young  and  happy ;  and  here 
are  my  sweet  blossoms  to  prove  that  I  have  yet 
within  me  vigorous  life." 

The  elm-tree  heard  what  the  linden  sung,  and 
said,  "Very  true,  very  true.  I,  too,  have  suffered 
from  the  canker-worms;  but  I  have  yet  leaves 
enough  left  for  a  beautiful  shade,  and  the  poor 
crawling  things  must  surely  eat  something." 
And  the  elm  bowed  gracefully  to  the  linden,  out 
of  sympathy  for  him. 


34         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

But  the  linden  has  heard  the  voices  of*  the 
young  robins  who  live  in  the  nest  among  his 
highest  boughs ;  and  he  must  yet  tell  to  the 
horse-chestnut  how  sad  it  was  the  other  day  in 
the  thunder-storm,  when  the  wind  upset  the  nest, 
and  one  little  bird  was  thrown  out  and  killed  ; 
while  the  father  and  mother  flew  about  in  the 
greatest  distress,  until  Charley  came,  climbed 
the  tree,  and  fitted  the  nest  safely  back  into  its 
place. 

How  much  the  trees  have  to  say !  And  there 
is  the  pine,  who  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the 
woods,  —  he  is  always  whispering  secrets  of  the 
great  forest,  and  of  the  river  beside  which  he 
grew.  The  other  trees  can't  always  understand 
him  :  he  is  the  poet  among  them,  and  a  poet  is 
always  suspected  of  knowing  a  little  more  than 
any  one  else. 

Sometime  I  may  try  to  tell  you  something  of 
what  he  says ;  but  here  ends  the  talk  of  the  trees 
that  stood  in  the  village  street. 


HOW 

THE    INDIAN     CORN 
GROWS 


HOW  THE   INDIAN   CORN   GROWS 


THE  children  came  in  from  the  field  with  their 
hands  full  of  the  soft,  pale-green  corn-silk. 
Annie  had  rolled  hers  into  a  bird's-nest ;  while 
Willie  had  dressed  his  little  sister's  hair  with  the 
long,  damp  tresses,  until  she  seemed  more  like 
a  mermaid,  with  pale  blue  eyes  shining  out 
between  the  locks  of  her  sea-green  hair,  than 
like  our  own  Alice. 

They  brought  their  treasures  to  the  mother, 
who  sat  on  the  door-step  of  the  farm-house, 
under  the  tall,  old  elm-tree  that  had  been  grow- 
ing there  ever  since  her  mother  was  a  child. 
She  praised  the  beauty  of  the  bird's-nest,  and 
kissed  the  little  mermaiden  to  find  if  her  lips 
tasted  of  salt  water ;  but  then  she  said,  "  Don't 
break  any  more  of  the  silk,  dear  children,  else  we 
shall  have  no  ears  of  corn  in  the  field,  —  none 

37 


38         STORfES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

to  roast  before  our  picnic  fires,  and  none  to  dry 
and  pop  at  Christmas-time  next  winter." 

Now,  the  children  wondered  at  what  their 
mother  said,  and  begged  that  she  would  tell  them 
how  the  silk  could  make  the  round,  full  kernels 
of  corn.  And  this  is  the  story  that  the  mother 
told,  while  they  all  sat  on  the  door-step  under 
the  old  elm. 

"When  your  father  broke  up  the  ground  with 
his  plough,  and  scattered  in  the  seed-corn,  the 
crows  were  watching  from  the  old  apple-tree, 
and  they  came  down  to  pick  up  the  corn ;  and, 
indeed,  they  did  carry  away  a  good  deal.  But  the 
days  went  by,  the  spring  showers  moistened  the 
earth,  and  the  sun  shone ;  and  so  the  seed-corn 
swelled,  and,  bursting  open,  thrust  out  two  little 
hands,  one  reaching  down  to  hold  itself  firmly 
in  the  earth,  and  one  reaching  up  to  the  light 
and  air.  The  first  was  never  very  beautiful,  but 
certainly  quite  useful ;  for,  besides  holding  the 
corn  firmly  in  its  place,  it  drew  up  water  and 
food  for  the  whole  plant  :  but  the  second  spread 
out  two  long,  slender  green  leaves,  that  waved 
with  every  breath  of  air,  and  seemed  to  rejoice  in 


HO  W  THE  INDIAN  CORN  GROWS         39 

every  ray  of  sunshine.  Day  by  day  it  grew  taller 
and  taller,  and  by  and  by  put  out  new  streamers 
broader  and  stronger,  until  it  stood  higher  than 
Willie's  head.  Then,  at  the  top,  came  a  new 
kind  of  bud,  quite  different  from  those  that  folded 
the  green  streamers ;  and  when  that  opened,  it 
showed  a  nodding  flower,  which  swayed  and  bowed 
at  the  top  of  the  stalk  like  the  crown  of  the 
whole  plant.  And  yet  this  was  not  the  best  that 
the  corn-plant  could  do ;  for  lower  down,  and 
partly  hidden  by  the  leaves,  it  had  hung  out  a 
silken  tassel  of  pale  sea-green  color,  like  the 
hair  of  a  little  mermaid.  Now,  every  silken 
thread  was  in  truth  a  tiny  tube,  so  fine  that  our 
eyes  cannot  see  the  bore  of  it.  The  nodding 
flower  that  grew  so  gayly  up  above  there  was 
day  by  day  ripening  a  golden  dust  called  pollen ; 
and  every  grain  of  this  pollen  —  and  they  were 
very  small  grains  indeed  —  knew  perfectly  well 
that  the  silken  threads  were  tubes,  and  they 
felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  enter  the  shining 
passages,  and  explore  them  to  the  very  end :  so 
one  day,  when  the  wind  was  tossing  the  whole 
blossoms  this  way  and  that,  the  pollen-grains 


40         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

danced  out,  and,  sailing  down  on  the  soft  breeze, 
each  one  crept  in  at  the  open  door  of  a  sea-green 
tube.  Down  they  slid  over  the  shining  floors ; 
and  what  was  their  delight  to  find,  when  they 
reached  the  end,  that  they  had  all  along  been 
expected,  and  for  each  one  was  a  little  room 
prepared,  and  sweet  food  for  their  nourishment ! 
And  from  this  time  they  had  no  desire  to  go 
away,  but  remained  each  in  his  own  place,  and 
grew  every  day  stronger  and  larger  and  rounder, 
even  as  baby  in  the  cradle  there,  who  has  nothing 
to  do  but  grow. 

"Side  by  side  were  their  cradles,  one  beyond 
another  in  beautiful  straight  rows ;  and  as  the 
pollen-grains  grew  daily  larger,  the  cradles  also 
grew  for  their  accommodation,  until  at  last  they 
felt  themselves  really  full  of  sweet,  delicious  life ; 
and  those  who  lived  at  the  tops  of  the  rows 
peeped  out  from  the  opening  of  the  dry  leaves 
which  wrapped  them  all  together,  and  saw  a  little 
boy  with  his  father  coming  through  the  cornfield, 
while  yet  every  thing  was  beaded  with  dew,  and 
the  sun  was  scarcely  an  hour  high.  The  boy 
carried  a  basket ;  and  the  father  broke  from  the 


HOW  THE  INDIAN  CORN  GROWS         41 

corn-stalks  the  full,  firm  ears  of  sweet  corn,  and 
heaped  the  basket  full." 

"  O  mother,"  cried  Willie,  "that  was  father  and 
I  !  Don't  you  remember  how  we  used  to  go 
out  last  summer  every  morning  before  breakfast 
to  bring  in  the  corn  ?  And  we  must  have  taken 
that  very  ear ;  for  I  remember  how  the  full 
kernels  lay  in  straight  rows,  side  by  side,  just  as 
you  have  told." 

Now  Alice  is  breaking  her  threads  of  silk,  and 
trying  to  see  the  tiny  opening  of  the  tube ;  and 
Annie  thinks  she  will  look  for  the  pollen-grains 
the  very  next  time  she  goes  to  the  cornfield. 


WATER-LILIES 


WATER-LILIES 


THE  stream  that  crept  down  from  the  hills, 
three  miles  away,  has  worn  a  smooth  bed  for  itself 
in  the  gravel ;  has  watered  the  farmer's  fields,  and 
turned  the  wheel  of  the  old  grist-mill,  where  the 
miller  tends  the  stones  that  grind  the  farmer's 
corn.  But  down  below  here  the  stream  has  some- 
thing else  to  do.  It  has  been  working  hard,  up 
and  away  from  dam  to  dam  again  ;  and  as  always  in 
life  there  should  be  something  besides  business,  — 
something  beautiful  and  peaceful,  —  so  the  stream 
has  swept  round  this  corner,  behind  the  wooded 
point  of  land  which  hides  the  mill,  and  spread 
itself  out  in  the  hollow  of  Brown's  meadow, 
where  farmer  Brown  says  his  grandfather  used 
to  tell  him  some  Indian  wigwams  stood  when  he 
he  was  a  boy.  The  land  has  sunk  since  then, 
and  there  is  something  more  beautiful  than 
Indian  wigwams  there  now. 

45 


46         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

Where  the  old  squaws  used  to  sit  weaving 
baskets,  and  the  pappooses  rolled  and  played,  is 
now  thick,  black  mud,  in  which  are  great  tangled 
roots,  some  of  them  bigger  than  my  arm. 

All  winter  they  lie  there  under  the  ice,  while 
the  children  skate  over  them.  In  the  spring, 
when  every  thing  stirs  with  new  life,  they,  too, 
must  wake  up :  so,  slowly  and  steadily,  they  begin 
to  put  up  long  stems  to  reach  the  surface  of  the 
water.  Chambered  stems  they  are,  each  having 
four  passages  leading  up  to  the  air,  and  down  to 
the  root  and  black  mud.  The  walls  of  these 
chambers  are  brown  and  slimy,  and  each  stem 
bears  at  its  top  a  slimy  bud,  —  slimy  on  the  out- 
side, brownish-green  as  it  pushes  up  through  the 
water ;  for  this  outer  coat  is  stout  and  water- 
proof, and  can  well  afford  to  be  unpretending, 
since  it  carries  something  very  precious  wrapped 
up  inside. 

Not  days,  but  weeks,  —  even  months,  it  is 
working  upon  this  hidden  treasure  before  we 
shall  see  it.  And  the  July  mornings  have  come 
while  we  wait. 

Can  you  wake  at  three  o'clock,  children,  and, 


WA  TER-LILIES  47 

while  the  birds  are  singing  their  very  best  songs, 
go  down  the  road  under  the  elms,  across  the  little 
bridge,  and  through  the  hemlock  grove  at  the 
right  ?  It  is  a  mile  to  walk,  and  you  will  not  be 
there  too  early.  The  broad,  smooth  pond,  that 
the  brook  has  made  for  its  holiday  pleasure,  is  at 
our  feet.  At  its  bottom  are  the  tangled  roots  ; 
on  the  surface,  among  the  flat,  green  leaves,  float 
those  buds  that  have  been  so  long  creeping 
towards  the  light. 

One  long,  bright  beam  from  the  sun  just  rising 
smiles  across  the  meadow,  and  touches  the  folded 
buds.  They  must,  indeed,  smile  back  in  reply; 
so  the  thick  sheath  unfolds,  and  behold !  the 
whitest,  fairest  lily-cup  floats  on  the  water,  and 
its  golden  centre  smiles  back  to  the  sun  with 
many  rays. 

We  watched  only  one,  but  perhaps  none  is 
willing  to  be  latest  in  greeting  the  sun,  and  the 
pond  is  already  half-covered  with  a  snowy  fleet 
of  boats  fit  for  the  fairies,  —  boats  under  full  sail 
for  fairy-land,  laden  with  beauty  and  fragrance. 

And  this  is  what  the  dark  mud  can  send  forth. 
This  is  one  of  Mother  Nature's  hidden  treasures. 


48         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

Perhaps  she  hides  something  as  white  and  beauti- 
ful in  all  that  seems  dark  and  ugly,  if  only  we 
will  wait  and  watch  for  it,  and  be  willing  to  come 
at  the  very  dawn  of  day  to  look  for  it. 

The  lilies  will  stay  with  us,  now  that  at  last 
they  are  here,  all  through  the  rest  of  the  summer, 
and  even  into  the  warm,  sunny  days  of  earliest 
October ;  but  it  will  be  only  a  few  who  stay  so 
late  as  that.  And  where  have  the  others  gone, 
meanwhile  ?  You  see  there  are  no  dead  lilies 
floating,  folded  and  decaying,  among  the  pads. 

The  stem  that  found  its  way  so  surely  to  the 
upper  world  knows  not  less  surely  the  way  back 
again ;  and  when  its  white  blossom  has  opened 
for  the  last  time,  and  then  wrapped  its  green 
cloak  about  it  again,  not  to  be  unfolded,  the 
chambered  stem  coils  backward,  and  carries  it 
safely  to  the  bottom,  where  its  seed  may  ripen 
in  the  soft,  dark  mud,  and  prepare  for  another 
summer. 


THE    CARRYING    TRADE 


THE    CARRYING    TRADE 


WHO  wants  to  engage  in  the  carrying  trade  ? 
Come,  Lottie  and  Lula  and  Nina  and  Mary,  all 
bring  your  maps,  and  we  will  play  merchants, 
and  see  what  is  meant  by  the  carrying  trade. 

Lottie  shall  have  the  bark  "  Rosette,"  and  sail 
from  Boston  to  Calcutta ;  Lula,  the  steamer 
"North  Star,"  from  New  York  for  Liverpool; 
Mary  shall  take  the  "  Sea-Gull,"  from  Philadelphia 
to  San  Francisco ;  and  Nina  is  owner  of  the 
"Racer,"  that  makes  voyages  up  the  Mediter- 
ranean. Are  we  all  ready  for  our  little  game  ? 

Lottie  begins,  and  she  must  find  out  what 
Boston  has  to  send  to  Calcutta.  Don't  send 
indigo  or  saltpetre  or  gunny-bags  or  ginger ;  for, 
even  should  you  have  these  articles  to  spare, 
Calcutta  has  an  abundance  at  home,  and  you 
must  discover  something  that  she  needs,  but  does 

5' 


52         STOKIES  MOTH  EX  NATURE   TOLD 

not  possess.  "  Ice,"  says  Lottie.  "  Yes,  that  is 
just  the  thing,  because  Calcutta  has  a  hot  climate, 
and  does  not  make  her  own  ice  :  so  load  the 
'  Rosette '  with  great  blocks  well  packed,  and 
start  at  once,  for  your  voyage  is  long." 

And  now  we  will  go  with  Lula  to  the  North 
River  pier,  where  her  great  steamer  lies,  and  see 
what  she  intends  to  carry  to  Liverpool.  Bales  of 
cotton,  barrels  of  flour,  of  beef,  and  of  petroleum. 
All  very  good,  so  good-by  to  her.  In  a  few  weeks 
we  will  see  what  she  brings  back. 

Come,  Mary,  what  has  Philadelphia  for  San 
Francisco  ?  Oh,  what  a  load  the  "  Sea-Gull " 
must  take  of  machinery,  steam-engines,  tobacco, 
and  oil ;  and  such  a  quantity  of  other  things,  that 
the  "  Sea-Gull "  will  need  to  make  many  voyages 
before  she  can  take  them  all.  We  load  her  at 
this  busy  wharf,  where  the  coal-vessels  are  pass- 
ing in  and  out  for  New  York  and  Boston,  and 
the  steamers  are  loading  for  Europe,  and  the 
little  coasters  crowding  in  one  after  another  ;  and 
away  we  go  for  the  voyage  round  the  "  Horn," 
where  the  "  Sea-Gull "  will  meet  her  namesakes, 
and  perhaps  some  stormy  winds  besides. 


THE  CARRYING   TRADE  53 

Meantime  Nina's  "Racer"  has  been  stored  full 
of  cotton  cloths  and  hardware,  and  has  raced 
out  of  Boston  Harbor  so  swiftly  that  fair  winds 
will  take  her  to  Gibraltar  in  three  weeks. 

And  so  you  have  all  engaged  in  the  carrying 
trade  ;  but  as  yet  you  have  carried  only  one  way. 
To  complete  the  game,  we  must  wait  for  Lotjtie 
to  bring  the  "  Rosette "  safely  home  with  salt- 
petre and  indigo  and  hides  and  ginger  anci. 
seersuckers  and  gunny-cloth.  And  the  "  North 
Star"  must  steam  her  quick  way  across  the 
Atlantic,  and  return  with  salt  and  hardware, 
anchors,  steel,  woollens,  and  linens.  Mary  must 
beat  her  way  round  Cape  Horn,  and  home  again 
with  wool  and  gold  and  silver.  And  the  swift 
"Racer"  must  quickly  bring  the  figs  and  prunes 
and  raisins,  and  the  oranges  and  lemons,  that  will 
spoil  if  they  are  too  long  on  the  way. 

So  children  may  play  at  the  carrying  trade,  and 
so  their  fathers  and  uncles  may  work  at  it  in 
earnest :  and  so  also  hundreds  of  little  workers 
are  busy  all  the  world  over  in  another  carrying 
trade,  which  keeps  you  and  me  alive  from  day  to 
day;  and  yet  We  scarcely  think  at  all  how  it  is 


54         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

going  on,  .or  stop  to  thank  the  hands  that  feed 
us. 

England  and  Italy  are  kingdoms,  and  the 
United  States  a  republic,  and  they  all  engage  in 
this  business,  and  are  constantly  sending  goods 
one  to  another ;  but  there  are  other  kingdoms, 
not  put  down  on  any  map,  that  are  just  as  busy 
as  they,  and  in  the  same  sort  of  work  too. 
•  The  earth  is  one  kingdom,  the  water  another, 
and  there  is  the  great  republic  of  the  gases 
surrounding  us  on  every  side ;  only  we  can't  see 
it,  because  its  inhabitants  have  the  fairy  gift  of 
being  invisible  to  us.  Each  of  these  kingdoms 
has  products  to  export,  and  is  all  ready  to  trade 
with  the  others,  if  only  some  one  will  supply  the 
means  ;  just  as  the  Frenchmen  might  stand  on 
their  shores,  and  hold  out  to  us  wines  and  prunes 
and  silks  and  muslins,  and  we  might  stand  on 
our  shores,  and  hold  out  gold  and  silver  to  them, 
and  yet  could  make  no  exchange,  because  there 
were  no  ships  to  carry  the  goods  across.  "Ah," 
you  may  say,  "  that  is  not  at  all  the  case  here ; 
for  the  earth,  the  air,  and  the  water  are  all 
close  to  each  other,  and  close  to"  us,  and  there 


THE  CARRYING   TRADE  55 

is  no  need  of   ships ;   we  can  exchange  hand  to 
hand." 

But  here  comes  a  difficulty.  Read  carefully, 
and  I  think  you  will  understand  it.  Here  is 
Ruth,  a  little  growing  girl,  who  wants  phosphate 
of  lime  to  build  bones  with  ;  for  as  she  grows,  of 
course  her  bones  must  grow  too.  Very  well,  I 
answer,  there  is  plenty  of  phosphate  of  lime 
in  the  earth ;  she  can  have  all  she  wants.  Yes, 
but  does  Ruth  want  to  eat  earth  ?  —  do  you  ?  — 
does  anybody  ?  Certainly  not :  so,  although  the 
food  she  needs  is  close  beside  her,  even  under  her 
feet,  she  cannot  get  it  any  more  than  we  can  get 
the  French  goods,  excepting  by  means  of  the 
carrying  trade.  Where  now  are  the  little  ships 
that  shall  bring  to  Ruth  the  phosphate  of  lime 
she  needs,  and  cannot  reach,  although  it  lies  in 
her  own  father's  field  ?  Let  me  show  you  how  her 
father  can  build  the  ships  that  will  bring  it  to 
her.  He  must  go  out  into  that  field,  and  plant 
wheat-seeds,  and  as  they  grow,  every  little  ear 
and  kernel  gathers  up  phosphate  of  lime,  and 
becomes  a  tiny  ship  freighted  with  what  his 
little  daughter  needs.  •  When  that  wheat  is 


56         STOX/ES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

ground  into  flour,  and  made  into  bread,  Ruth 
will  eat  what  she  couldn't  have  been  willing  to 
taste,  unless  the  useful  little  ships  of  the  wheat- 
field  had  brought  it  to  her. 

Now  let  us  send  to  the  republic  of  the  gases 
for  some  supplies,  for  we  cannot  live  without 
carbon  and  oxygen  ;  and  although  we  do  breathe 
in  oxygen  with  every  breathe  we  draw,  we  also 
need  to  receive  it  in  other  ways  :  so  the  sugar- 
cane and  the  maple-trees  engage  in  the  carrying 
trade  for  us,  taking  in  carbon  and  oxygen  by  their 
leaves,  and  sending  it  through  their  bodies,  and 
when  it  reaches  us  it  is  sugar,  —  and  a  very 
pleasant  food  to  most  o£  you,  I  dare  say. 

But  we  cannot  take  all  we  need  of  these  gases 
in  the  form  of  sugar,  and  there  are  many  other 
ships  that  will  bring  it  to  us.  The  corn  will 
gather  it  up,  and  offer  it  in  the  form  of  meal,  or 
of  cornstarch  puddings  ;  or  the  grass  will  bring 
it  to  the  cow,  since  you  and  I  refuse  to  take  it 
from  the  grass  ships.  But  the  cow  offers  it  to  us 
again  in  the  form  of  milk,  and  we  do  not  think 
of  refusing ;  t>r  the  butcher  offers  it  to  us  in  the 
form  of  beef,  and  we  do  not  say  "  no." 


THE  CARRYING   TRADE  57 

Alice  wants  some  india-rubber  shoes.  Do  you 
think  the  kingdoms  of  air  and  water  can  send 
her  a  pair?  The  india-rubber  tree  in  South 
America  will  take  up  water,  and  separate  from  it 
hydrogen,  of  which  it  is  partly  composed,  and 
adding  to  this  carbon  from  the  air,  will  make  a 
gum  which  we  can  work  into  shoes  and'  balls, 
buttons,  tubes,  cups,  cloth,  and  a  hundred  other 
useful  articles. 

Then,  again,  you  and  I,  all  of  us,  must  go  to 
the  world  of  gases  for  nitrogen  to  help  build  our 
bodies,  to  make  muscle  and  blood  and  skin  and 
hair;  and  so  the  peas  and  beans  load  their  boat- 
shaped  seeds  full,  and  bring  it  to  us  so  fresh  and 
excellent  that  we  enjoy  eating  it. 

This  useful  carrying  trade  has  also  another 
branch  well  worth  looking  at. 

You  remember  hearing  how  many  soldiers  were 
sick  in  war-time  at  the  South  ;  but  perhaps  you 
do  not  know  that  their  best  medicine  was  brought 
to  them  by  a  South-American  tree,  that  gathered 
up  from  the  earth  and  air  bitter  juices  to  make 
what  we  call  quinine.  Then  there  is  camphor, 
which  I  am  sure  you  have  all  seen,  sent  by  the 


58         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

East-Indian  camphor-tree  to  cure  you  when  you 
are  sick  ;  and  gum-arabic  and  all  the  other  gums  ; 
and  castor-oil  and  most  of  the  other  medicines 
that  you  don't  at  all  like,  —  all  brought  to  us  by 
the  plants. 

I  might  tell  you  a  great  deal  more  of  this, 
but  I  will  only  stop  to  show  a  little  what  we  give 
back  in  payment  for  all  that  is  brought. 

When  England  sends  us  hardware  and  woollen 
goods,  she  expects  us  to  repay  her  with  cotton 
and  sugar,  that  are  just  as  valuable  to  us  as 
hardware  and  woollens  to  her ;  but  see  how 
differently  we  treat  the  kingdoms  from  which 
the  plant-ships  are  all  the  time  bringing  us 
food  and  clothes  and  medicines,  etc.  All  we 
return  is  just  so  much  as  we  don't  want  to  use. 
We  take  in  good  fresh  air,  and  breathe  out 
impure  and  bad.  We  throw  back  to  the  earth 
whatever  will  not  nourish  and  strengthen  us ;  and 
yet  no  complaint  comes  from  the  faithful  plants. 
Do  you  wonder?  I  will  let  you  into  the  secret 
of  this.  The  truth  is,  that  what  is-  worthless  to 
us  is  really  just  the  food  they  need  ;  and  they 
don't  at  all  know  how  little  we  value  it  ourselves. 


THE  CARRYING  TRADE  59 

It  is  like  the  Chinese,  of  whom  we  might  buy 
rice  or  silk  or  tea,  and  pay  them  in  rats  which 
we  are  glad  to  be  rid  of,  while  they  consider 
them  good  food. 

Now,  I  have  given  you  only  a  peep  into  this 
carrying  trade,  but  it  is  enough  to  show  you  how 
to  use  your  own  eyes  to  learn  more  about  it. 
Look  about  you,  and  see  if  you  can't  tell  as 
good  a  story  as  I  have  done,  or  a  better  one  if 
you  please. 


SEA-LIFE 


SEA-LIFE 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    STAR-FISH    TAKES    A    SUMMER   JOURNEY. 

ONCE  there  was  a  little  star-fish,  and  he  had 
five  fingers  and  five  eyes,  one  at  the  end  of  each 
finger,  — so  that  he  might  be  said  to  have  at  least 
one  power  at  his  fingers'  ends.  And  he  had  I 
can't  tell  you  how  many  little  feet ;  but  being 
without  legs,  you  see,  he  couldn't  be  expected  to 
walk  very  fast.  The  feet  couldn't  move  one 
before  the  other  as  yours  do  :  they  could  only 
cling  like  little  suckers,  by  which  he  pulled  him- 
self slowly  along  from  place  to  place.  Neverthe- 
less, he,  was  very  proud  of  this  accomplishment ; 
and  sometimes  this  pride  led  him  to  an  unjust 
contempt  for  his  neighbors,  as  you  will  see  by  and 
by.  He  was  very  particular  about  his  eating; 

63 


64         STOJUES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

and  besides  his  mouth,  which  lay  in  the  centre 
of  his  body,  he  had  a  little  scarlet-colored  sieve 
through  which  he  strained  the  water  he  drank. 
For  he  couldn't  think  of  taking  in  common  sea- 
water  with  every  thing  that  might  be  floating  in 
it, — that  would  do  for  crabs  and  lobsters  and 
other  common  people ;  but  anybody  who  wears 
such  a  lovely  purple  coat,  and  has  brothers  and 
sisters  dressed  in  crimson,  feels  a  little  above 
such  living. 

Now,  one  day  this  star-fish  set  out  on  a  summer 
journey,  —  not  to  the  seaside  where  you  and  I 
went  last  year :  of  course  not,  for  he  was  there 
already.  No;  he  thought  he  would  go  to  the 
mountains.  He  could  not  go  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  nor  to  the  Catskill  Mountains,  nor  the 
White  Mountains;  for,  with  all  his  accomplish- 
ments, he  had  not  yet  learned  to  live  in  any 
drier  place  than  a  pool  among  the  rocks,  or  the 
very  wettest  sand  at  low  tide :  so,  if  he  travelled 
to  the  mountains,  it  must  be  to  the  mountains 
of  the  sea. 

Perhaps  you  didn't  know  that  there  are  moun- 
tains in  the  sea.  I  have  seen  them,  however, 


SEA-LIFE  65 

and  I  think  you  have,  too, — at  least  their  tops, 
if  nothing  more.  What  is  that  little  rocky  ledge, 
where  the  lighthouse  stands,  but  the  stony  top 
of  a  hill  rising  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ?  And 
what  are  the  pretty  green  islands,  with  their  clus- 
ters of  trees  and  grassy  slopes,  but  the  summits 
of  hills  lifted  out  of  the  water? 

In  many  parts  of  the  sea,  where  the  water  is 
deep,  are  hills  and  even  high  mountains,  whose 
tops  do  not  reach  the  surface ;  and  we  should  not 
know  where  they  are,  were  it  not  that  the  sailors, 
in  measuring  the  depth  of  the  sea,  sometimes  sail 
right  over  these  mountain-tops,  and  touch  them 
with  their  sounding-lines. 

The  star-fish  set  out  one  day,  about  five  hun- 
dred years  ago,  to  visit  some  of  these  mountains 
of  the  sea.  If  he  had  depended  upon  his  own 
feet  for  getting  there,  it  would  have  taken  him 
till  this  day,  I  verily  believe ;  but  he  no  more 
thought  of  walking,  than  you  or  I  should  think  of 
walking  to  China.  You  shall  see  how  he  trav- 
elled. A  great  train  was  coming  down  from  the 
Northern  seas  ;  not  a  railroad  train,  but  a  water 
train,  sweeping  on  like  a  river  in  the  sea.  Its 


66         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

track  lay  along  near  the  bottom  of  the  ocean; 
and  above  you  could  see  no  sign  of  it,  any  more 
than  you  can  see  the  cars  while  they  go  through 
the  tunnel  under  the  street.  The  principal  pas- 
sengers by  this  train  were  icebergs,  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  coming  down  on  it  every  year,  in 
order  to  reduce  their  weight  by  a  little  exercise ; 
for  they  grow  so  very  large  and  heavy  up  there 
in  the  North  every  winter,  that  some  sort  of 
treatment  is  really  necessary  to  them  when  sum- 
mer comes.  I  only  call  the  icebergs  the  princi- 
pal passengers,  because  they  take  up  so  much 
room  ;  for  thousands  and  millions  of  other  trav- 
ellers come  with  them, — from  the  white  bears 
asleep  on  the  bergs,  and  brought  away  quite 
against  their  will,  to  the  tiniest  little  creatures 
rocking  in  the  cradles  of  the  ripples,  or  clinging 
to  the  delicate  branches  of  the  sea-mosses.  I 
said  you  could  see  no  sign  of  the  great  water 
train  from  above :  that  was  not  quite  true,  for 
many  of  the  icebergs  are  tall  enough  to  lift  their 
heads  far  up  into  the  air,  and  shine  with  a 
cold,  glittering  splendor  in  the  sunlight  ;  and 
you  can  tell,  by  the  course  in  which  they  sail, 


SEA- LIFE  67 

which  way  the  train  is  going  deep  down  in  the 
sea. 

The  star-fish  took  passage  on  this  train.  He 
didn't  start  at  the  beginning  of  the  road,  but 
got  in  at  one  of  the  way-stations  somewhere  off 
Cape  Cod,  fell  in  with  some  friends  going  South, 
and  had  altogether  a  pleasant  trip  of  it.  No 
wearisome  stopping-places  to  feed  either  engine 
or  passengers ;  for  this  train  moves  by  a  power 
that  needs  no  feeding  on  the  way,  and  the  pas- 
sengers are  much  in  the  habit  of  eating  their 
fellow-travellers  by  way  of  frequent  luncheons. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  our  five-fingered 
traveller  is  safely  dropped  in  the  Caribbean  Sea ; 
and,  if  you  do  not  know  where  that  sea  is,  I  wish 
you  would  take  your  map  of  North  America  and 
find  it,  and  then  you  can  see  the  course  of  the 
journey,  and  understand  the  story  better.  This 
Caribbean  Sea  is  as  full  of  mountains  as  New 
Hampshire  and  Vermont  are ;  but  none  of  them 
have  caps  of  snow  like  that  which  Mount  Wash- 
ington sometimes  wears,  and  some  of  them  are 
built  up  in  a  very  odd  way,  as  you  will  presently 
see. 


68         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

Now  the  star-fish  is  floating  in  the  warm,  soft 
water  among  the  mountains,  turning  up  first  one 
eye  and  then  another  to  see  the  wonders  about 
him,  or  looking  all  around,  before  and  behind  and 
both  sides  at  once,  —  as  you  can't  do,  if  you  try 
ever  so  hard,  —  while  his  fifth  eye  is  on  the  look- 
out for  sharks,  besides ;  and  he  meets  with  a  soft 
little  body,  much  smaller  than  himself,  and  not 
half  so  handsomely  dressed,  who  invites  him  to 
visit  her  relatives,  who  live  by  millions  in  this 
mountain  region.  "  And  come  quickly,  if  you 
please,"  she  says,  "for  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  I 
must  fix  myself  somewhere ;  and  I  should  like,  if 
possible,  to  settle  down  near  my  brothers  and 
sisters  on  the  Roncador  Bank." 


SEA-LIFE  69 


CHAPTER   II. 

CORALTOWN  ON  RONCADOR  BANK. 

WHERE  is  Roncador  Bank,  and  who  -are  the 
little  settlers  there  ?  If  you  want  me  to  answer 
this  question,  you  must  go  back  with  me,  or 
rather  think  back  with  me,  over  many  thousands 
of  years ;  and,  looking  into  this  same  Caribbean 
Sea,  we  shall  find  in  its  south-western  part  a  little 
hill  formed  of  mud  and  sand,  and  reaching  not 
nearly  so  high  as  the  top  of  the  water.  Not  far 
from  it  float  some  little,  soft,  jelly-like  bodies, 
exactly  resembling  the  one  who  spoke  to  the  star- 
fish just  now.  They  are  emigrants  looking  for 
a  new  home.  They  seem  to  take  a  fancy  to  this 
hill,  and  fix  themselves  on  bits  of  rock  along  its 
base,  until,  as  more  and  more  of  them  come,  they 
form  a  circle  around  it,  and  the  hill  stands  up  in 
the  middle,  while  far  above  the  whole  blue  waves 
are  tossing  in  the  sunlight. 


/O         STORfES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

How  do  you  like  this  little  circular  town  seen 
in  the  picture  ?  It  is  the  beginning  of  Coraltown, 
just  as  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth 
was  the  beginning  of  Massachusetts.  Now  we 
will  see  how  it  grows.  First  of  all,  notice  this 
curious  fact,  that  each  settler,  after  once  choosing 
a  home,  never  after 
stirs  from  that  spot ; 
~:  but,  from  day  to  day, 
fastens  himself  more 
and  more  firmly  to  the 
rock  where  he  first 
stuck.  The  part  of  his  body  touching  the  rock 
hardens  into  stone,  and  as  the  months  and  years 
go  by,  the  sides  of  his  body,  too,  turn  to  stone  ; 
and  yet  he  is  still  alive,  eating  all  the  time  with 
a  little  mouth  at  his  top,  taking  in  the  sea-water 
without  a  strainer,  and  getting  consequently  tiny 
bits  of  lime  in  it,  which,  once  taken  in,  go  to 
build  up  the  little  body  into  a  sort  of  lime- 
stone castle;  just  as  if  one  of  the  knights  in 
armor,  of  whom  we  read  in  old  stories,  had, 
instead  of  putting  on  his  steel  corselet  and 
helmet  and  breastplate,  turned  his  own  flesh  and 


SEA-LIFE 


bones  into  armor.  How  safe  he  would  be!  So 
these  inhabitants  of  Coraltown  were  safe  from  all 
the  fishes  and  other  fierce  devourers  of  little  sea 
creatures  (for  who  wants  to  swallow  a  mail-clad 
warrior,  however  small  ?) ; 
and  their  settlement  was 
undisturbed,  and  grew 
from  year  to  year,  until 
it  formed  a  pretty  high 
wall.  • 

But,  before  going  any 
farther,  you  may  like  to 
know  that  these  settlers 
were  all  of  the  polyp  fam- 
ily :  fathers  and  mothers, 
brothers  and  sisters,  uncles 
and  aunts,  —  all  were 
polyps.  And  this  is  the  way  their  families  in- 
creased :  after  the  first  comers  were  fairly  settled, 
and  pretty  thoroughly  turned  to  stone,  little  buds, 
looking  somewhat  like  the  smallest  leaf-buds  of 
the  spring-time,  began  to  grow  out  of  their  edges. 
These  were  their  children,  at  least  one  kind  of 
their  children ;  for  they  had  yet  another  kind  also, 


72         STORfES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

coming  from  eggs,  and  floating  off  in  the  water 
like  the  first  settlers.  These  latter  we  might  call 
the  free  children  or  wanderers,  while  the  former 
could  be  named  the  fixed  children.  But  even 
the  wanderers  come  back  after  a  short  time,  and 
settle  beside  their  parents,  as  you  remember  the 
one  who  met  the  star-fish  was  about  to  do. 

It  was  not  very  easy  for  you  or  me  to  think 
back  so  many  thousand  years  to  the  very  begin 
ning  of  Coraltown,  nor  is  it  less  difficult  to 
.realize  how  many,  many  years  were  passing  while 
the  little  town  grew,  even  as  far  as  I  have  told 
you. 

The  old  great-grandfathers  and  great-grand 
mothers  had  died,  but  they  left  their  stone 
bodies  still  standing,  as  a  support  and  assistance 
to  their  descendants  who  had  built  above  them  ; 
and  the  walls  had  risen,  not  like  walls  of  common 
stone  or  brick,  but  all  alive  and  busy  building 
themselves,  day  after  day,  and  year  after  year, 
until  now,  at  the  time  of  the  star-fish's  visit, 
the  topmost  towers  could  sometimes  catch  a 
gleam  of  sunlight  when  the  tide  was  low  ;  and 
when  storms  rolled  the  great  waves  that  way, 


SEA-LIFE  73 

they  would  dash  against  the  -little  castles,  break- 
ing themselves  into  snowy  spray,  and  crumbling 
away  at  the  same  time  the  tiny  walls  that  had 
been  the  polyps'  work  of  years.  Do  you  think 
that  was  too  bad,  and  quite,  discouraging  to  the 
workers.  It  does  seem  so ;  but  you  will  see  how 
the  good  God,  who  is  their  loving  Father  just  the 
same  as  he  is  ours,  had  a  grand  purpose  in 
letting  the  waves  break  down  their  houses,  just 
as  he  always  does  in  all  the  disappointments  he 
sends  to  us.  Wait  till  you  finish  the  story,  and 
tell  me  if  you  don't  think  so. 

And  now  let  us  see  what  the  star-fish  thought 
of  the  little  town  and  its  inhabitants.  "Ah, 
these  are  your  houses  ! "  he  said.  "  Why  don't 
you  come  out  of  them,  and  travel  about  to  see 
the  world  ? "  —  "  These  are  not  our  houses,  but 
ourselves,"  answered  the  polyps  ;  "  we  can't  come 
out,  and  we  don't  want  to.  We  are  here  to 
build,  and  building  is  all  we  care  to  do  ;  as  for 
seeing  the  world,  that  is  all  very  well  for  those 
who  have  eyes,  but  we  have  none." 

Then  the  star-fish  turned  away  in  contempt 
from  such  creatures,  —  "people  of  neither  taste 


74         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

nor  ability,  no  eyes,  no  feet,  no  water-strainers ; 
poor  little  useless  things,  what  good  are  they  in 
the  world,  with  their  stupid,  blind  building  of 
which  they  think  so  much?"  And  he  worked 
himself  off  into  a. branch  water-train  that  was 
setting  that  way,  and,  without  so  much  as 
bidding  the  polyps  good-by,  turned  his  back  upon 
Coraltown,  and  presently  found  a  fellow-passenger 
fine  enough  to  absorb  all  his  attention,  —  a 
passenger,  I  say,  but  we  shall  find  it  rather 
a  group  of  passengers  in  their  own  pretty  boat ; 
some  curled  in  spiral  coils,  some  trailing  like 
little  swimmers  behind,  some  snugly  ensconced 
inside,  but  all  of  such  brilliant  colors  and  gay 
bearing  that  even  the  star-fish  felt  his  inferiority; 
and,  wishing  to  make  friends  with  so  fine  a 
neighbor,  he  whirled  a  tempting  morsel  of  food 
towards  one  of  the  swimming  party,  and  politely 
offered  it  to  him.  "  No,  I  thank  you,"  replied 
the  swimmer,  "  I  don't  eat ;  my  sister  does  the 
eating,  I  only  swim."  Turning  to  another  of 
the  gay  company  with  the  same  offer,  he  was 
answered,  "  Thank  you,  the  eaters  are  at  the 
other  side;  I  only  lay  eggs."  "What  strange 


SEA-LIFE  75 

people ! "  thought  the  star-fish ;  but,  with  all  his 
learning,  he  didn't  know  every  thing,  and  had 
never  heard  how  people  sometimes  live  in  com- 
munities, and  divide  the  work  as  suits  their 
fancy. 

While  we  leave  him  wondering,  let  us  go  back 
to  Coraltown.  The  crumbling  bits,  beaten  off  by 
the  waves,  floated  about,  rilling  all  the  chinks 
of  the  wall,  while  the  rough  edges  at  the  top 
caught  long  ribbons  of  seaweed,  and  sometimes 
drifting  wood  from  wrecked  vessels,  and  then  the 
sea  washed  up  sand  in  great  heaps  against 
the  walls,  building  buttresses  for  them.  Do  you 
know  what  buttresses  are  ?  If  you  don't,  I  will 
leave  you  to  find  out.  And  the  polyps,  who  do 
not  know  how  to  live  in  the  light  and  air,  had 
all  died ;  or  those  who  were  wanderers  had 
emigrated  to  some  new  place.  Poor  little  things, 
their  useless  lives  had  ended,  and  what  good  had 
they  done  in  the  world  ? 


76         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 


CHAPTER   III. 

LITTLE   SUNSHINE. 

AND  now  let  us  look  at  Coraltown  once  more. 
It  is  the  first  day  of  June  of  1865.  The  sun  is 
low  in  the  West,  and  lights  up  the  crests  of  the 
long  lines  of  breakers  that  are  everywhere 
curling  and  dashing  among  the  topmost  turrets 
of  the  coral  walls.  But  here  is  something  new 
and  strange  indeed  for  this  region  ;  along  one  of 
the  ledges  of  rock,  fitted  as  it  were  into  a  cradle, 
lies  the  great  steamship  "Golden  Rule,"  a  vessel 
full  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  and  holding 
six  or  seven  hundred  people.  Her  masts  are 
gone,  and  so  are  the  tall  chimneys  from  which 
the  smoke  of  her  engine  used  to  rise  like  a  cloud 
The  rocks  have  torn  a  great  hole  through  her 
strong  planks,  and  the  water  is  washing  in  ;  while 
the  biggest  waves  that  roll  that  way  lift  them- 


SEA-LIFE  77 

selves  in  mountainous  curves,  and  sweep  over  the 
deck. 

This  fine,  great  vessel  sailed  out  of  New  York 
harbor  a  week  ago  to  carry  all  these  people  to 
Greytown,  on  their  way  to  California ;  and  here 
she  is  now  at  Coraltown  instead  of  Greytown, 
and  the  poor  people,  nearly  a  hundred  miles  away 
from  land,  are  waiting  through  the  weary  hours, 
while  they  see  the  ocean  swallowing  up  their 
vessel,  breaking  it,  and  tearing  it  to  pieces,  and 
they  do  not  know  how  soon  they  may  find  them- 
selves drifting  in  the  sea.  But,  although  they 
may  be  a  hundred  miles  from  land,  they  are  just 
as  near. to  God  as  they  ever  were  ;  and  he  is  even 
at  this  moment  taking  most  loving  care  of  them. 

On  the  more  sheltered  parts  of  the  deck  are 
men  and  women,  holding  on  by  ropes  and  bul- 
warks :  they  are  all  looking  one  way  out  over 
the  water.  What  are  they  watching  for?  See, 
it  comes  now  in  sight,  —  only  a  black  speck  in 
the  golden  path  of  the  sunlight !  No,  it  is  a  boat 
sent  out  two  hours  ago  to  search  for  some  island 
where  the  people  might  find  refuge  when  the 
ship  should  go  to  pieces.  Do  you  wonder  that 


7  8         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

the  men  and  women  are  watching  eagerly  ? 
Look !  it  has  reached  the  outer  ledge  of  rock. 
The  men  spring  out  of  it,  waving  their  hats,  and 
shouting  "  Success ; "  and  the  men  on  board 
answer  with  a  loud  hurrah,  while  the  women 
cannot  keep  back  their  tears.  What  land  have 
they  discovered  ?  You  could  hardly  call  it  land. 
It  is  only  a  larger  ledge  of  coral,  built  up  just 
out  of  reach  of  the  waves,  its  crevices  filled  in 
firmly  with  broken  bits  of  rock  and  drifts  of 
sand  ;  but  it  seems  to-day,  to  these  shipwrecked 
people,  more  beautiful  than  the  loveliest  woods 
and  meadows  do  to  you  and  me. 

It  would  be  too  long  a  story  if  I  should  tell 
you  how  the  people  were  moved  from  the  wreck 
to  this  little  harbor  of  refuge,  lowered  over  the 
vessel's  side  with  ropes,  taken  first  to  a  raft 
which  had  been  made  of  broken  parts  of  the 
vessel,  and  the  next  day  in  little  boats  to  the  rocky 
island  ;  but  you  can  make  a  picture  in  your  mind 
of  the  boats  full  of  people,  and  the  sailors  row- 
ing through  the  breakers,  and  the  great  sea- 
birds  coming  to  meet  their  strange  visitors, 
peering  curiously  at  them,  as  if  they  wondered 


SEA- LIFE  79 

what  new  kind  of  creatures  were  these,  without 
wings  or  beaks.  And  you  must  see  in  the  very 
first  boat  little  May  Warner,  three  years  and  a 
half  old,  with  her  sunny  hair  all  wet  with  spray, 
and  her  blue  eyes  wide  open  to  see  all  the  won- 
ders about  her.  For  May  doesn't  know  what 
danger  is  :  even  while  on  the  wreck,  she  clapped 
her  little  hands  in  delight  to  see  the  great  curl- 
ing crests  of  the  waves  ;  and  now  she  is  singing 
her  merry  songs  to  the  sea-birds,  and  laughing 
in  their  funny  faces,  and  fairly  shouting  with  joy, 
as,  at  landing,  she  rides  to  the  shore  perched 
high  on  the  shoulder  of  sailor  Jack,  while  he 
wades  knee-deep  through  the  water. 

So  we  have  come  to  a  second  settlement  of 
Coraltown :  first  the  polyps ;  then  the  men, 
women,  and  children.  Do  you  see  how  the 
good  Father  teaches  all  his  creatures  to  help 
each  other  ?  Here  the  tiny  polyps  have  built  an 
island  for  people  who  are  so  much  larger  and 
stronger  than  themselves,  and  the  seeming  de- 
struction of  their  upper  walls  was  only  a  better 
preparation  for  the  reception  of  these  distin- 
guished visitors.  The  birds,  too,  are  helping 


80         STOX/ES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

them  to  food,  for  every  little  cave  and  shelf  in 
the  rock  is  full  of  eggs.  And  now  should  you 
like  to  see  how  little  May  Warner  helps  them 
in  even  a  better  way  ? 

Did  you  ever  fall  asleep  on  the  floor,  and, 
waking,  find  yourself  aching  and  stiff  because  it 
was  so  hard  ?  Then  you  know,  in  part,  what  hard 
beds  rocks  make.  And  in  a  hot,  sunny  day, 
haven't  you  often  been  glad  to  keep  under  the 
trees,  or  even  to  stay  in  the  house  for  shade? 
Then  you  can  understand  a  little  how  hot  it  must 
have  been  on  Roncador  Island,  where  there  were 
no  trees  nor  houses.  And  haven't  you  some- 
times, when  you  were  very  hot  and  tired  and 
hungry,  and  had,  perhaps,  also  been  kept  waiting 
a  long  hour  for  somebody  who  didn't  come,  — 
haven't  you  felt  a  little  cross  and  fretful  and 
impatient,  so  that  nothing  seemed  pleasant  to 
you,  and  you  seemed  pleasant  to  nobody  ?  Now, 
shouldn't  you  think  there  was  great  danger  that 
these  people  on  the  island,  in  the  hot  sun,  tired, 
hungry,  and  waiting,  waiting,  day  and  night,  for 
some  vessel  to  come  and  take  them  to  their 
homes  again,  and  not  feeling  at  all  sure  that 


SEA-LIFE  8 1 

any  such  vessel  would  ever  come,  —  shouldn't 
you  think  there  was  danger  of  their  becoming 
cross  and  fretful  and  impatient  ?  And  if  one 
begins  to  say,  "  Oh,  how  tired  I  am,  and  how 
hard  the  rocks  are,  and  how  little  dinner  I  have 
had,  and  how  hot  the  sun  is,  and  what  shall  we 
ever  do  waiting  here  so  long,  and  how  shall 
we  ever  get  home  again ! "  don't  you  see  that 
all  would  begin  to  be  discouraged  ?  And  some- 
times on  this  island  it  did  happen  just  so  :  first 
one  would  be  discouraged,  and  then  another ; 
and  as  soon  as  you  begin  to  feel  in  this  way, 
you  know  at  once  every  thing  grows  even  worse 
than  it  was  before, — the  sun  feels  hotter,  the 
rocks  harder,  the  water  tastes  more  disagreeably, 
and  the  crab's  claws  less  palatable.  But  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  trouble,  May  would  come  tripping 
over  the  rocks,  — a  little  sunburnt  girl  now,  with 
tattered  clothes  and  bare  feet, — and  she  would 
bring  a  pretty  pink  conch-shell  or  the  lovely  rose- 
colored  sea-mosses,  and  tell  her  funny  little  story 
of  where  she  found  them.  The  discontented 
people  would  gather  around  her :  she  would  give 
a  sailor  kiss  to  one,  and  a  French  kiss  to  another, 


82         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

and,  best  of  all,  a  Yankee  kiss,  with  both  arms 
round  his  neck,  to  her  own  dear  father ;  and  then, 
somehow  or  other,  the  discontent  and  trouble 
would  be  gone,  for  a  little  while  at  least, — just 
as  a  cloud  sometimes  seems  to  melt  away  in  the 
sunshine ;  and  so  May  Warner  earned  the  name 
of  "  Little  Sunshine." 

If  anybody  had  picked  up  driftwood  enough  to 
make  a  fire,  and  could  get  an  old  battered  kettle 
and  some  water  to  make  a  soup  of  shell-fish, 
"  Little  Sunshine  "  must  be  invited  to  dinner,  for 
half  the  enjoyment  would  be  wanting  without 
her. 

If  a  great  black  cloud  came  up  threatening  a 
shower,  the  roughest  man  on  the  island  forgot 
his  own  discomfort,  in  making  a  tent  to  keep 
"  Little  Sunshine "  safe  from  the  rain.  And  so, 
in  a  thousand  ways,  she  cheered  the  weary  days, 
making  everybody  happier  for  having  her  there. 

Do  you  think  there  are  any  children  who  would 
have  made  the  people  less  happy  by  being  there  ? 
who  would  have  complained  and  fretted,  and  been 
selfish  and  disagreeable  ? 


SEA-LIFE  83 

Ten  days  go  by,  so  slowly  that  they  seem  more 
like  weeks  or  months  than  like  days.  The  people 
have  suffered  from  the  rain,  from  heat,  from  want 
of  food.  They  are  very  weak  now  ;  some  of  them 
can  hardly  stand.  Can  you  imagine  how  they 
feel,  when,  in  the  early  morning,  two  great  gun- 
boats come  in  sight,  making  straight  for  their 
island  as  fast  as  the  strong  steam-engines  will 
take  them  ?  Can  you  think  how  tenderly  and 
carefully  they  are  taken  on  board,  fed  with  broth 
and  wine,  and  nursed  back  into  health  and 
strength  ?  And  do  not  forget  the  little  treasures 
that  go  in  May's  pocket,  —  the  bits  of  coral,  the 
tinted  sea-^shells,  and  ruby-colored  mosses ;  and 
nested  among  them  all,  and  chief  in  her  regard, 
a  little  five-fingered  star,  spiny  and  dry,  but  still 
showing  a  crimson  coat,  and  dots  which  mark 
the  places  of  five  eyes,  and  a  little  scarlet  water- 
strainer,  now  of  no  further  use  to  the  owner. 
Do  you  remember  our  old  friend  the  star-fish? 
Well,  this  is  his  great-great-great-great-great- 
grandchild. In  a  week  or  two  more,  the  rescued 
people  have  all  reached  California,  and  gone  their 


84         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

separate  ways,  never  to  meet  again.  But  all 
carry  in  their  hearts  the  memory  of  "  Little  Sun- 
shine," who  lightened  their  troubles,  and  cheered 
their  darkest  days. 


WHAT     THE    FROST    GIANTS    DID    TO 
NANNIE'S    RUN 


WHAT    THE    FROST    GIANTS    DID    TO 

NANNIE'S    RUN 


THE    FROST    GIANTS 

Do  you  believe  in  giants?  No,  do  you  say? 
Well,  listen  to  my  story,  which  is  a  really  true 
one,  and  then  answer  my  question. 

Many  hundreds  of  years  ago,  certain  people 
who  lived  in  the  North,  and  were  therefore  called 
Northmen,  had  a  strange  idea  of  the  form  and 
situation  of  the  earth :  they  thought  it  was  a 
flat,  circular  piece  of  land,  surrounded  by  a  great 
ocean  ;  and  that  this  ocean  was  again  surrounded 
by  a  wall  of  snow-covered  mountains,  where  lived 
the  race  of  Frost  Giants. 

I  have  seen  a  pretty  picture  of  this  world  of 
theirs,  with  a  lovely  rainbow  bridge  arching  up 
over  the  sea  to  the  earth,  and  a  great  coiled 
serpent,  holding  his  tail  in  his  mouth,  lying  in 

87 


88         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

mid-ocean  like  a  ring  around  the  land.  Perhaps 
you  will  some  day  read  about  it  all,  but  at 
present  we  have  only  to  do  with  the  Frost 
Giants  ;  for  I  want  to  tell  you,  that,  although  no 
one  now  thinks  of  believing  about  the  serpent 
or  the  flat  earth  or  the  rainbow  bridge,  yet  the 
Frost  Giants  still  live,  and  their  home  is  really 
among  the  mountains. 

You  may  call  them  by  what  name  you  like, 
and  we  may  all  know  certainly  that  they  are  not 
what  the  old  Northmen  believed  them  to  be, 
but  are  God's  workmen,  a  part  of  Nature's 
family,  employed  to  work  in  the  great  garden 
of  the  world  ;  but,  whenever  we  look  at  their 
work,  we  cannot  fail  to  admit  that  to  do  it  needed 
a  giant's  strength,  and  so  they  deserve  their 
title. 

Have  you  sometimes  seen  great  bowlder  stones, 
as  big  as  a  small  house,  that  stand  alone  by 
themselves  in  some  field,  or  on  some  seashore, 
where  no  other  rocks  are  near?  Well,  the  Frost 
Giants  carried  these  bowlders  about,  and  dropped 
them  down  miles  away  from  their  homes,  as  you 
might  take  a  pocketful  of  pebbles,  and  drop 


THE  FROST  GIANTS  89 

them  along  the  road  as  you  walk.  Sometimes 
they  roll  great  rocks  down  the  mountain-sides, 
playing  a  desperate  game  of  ball  with  each  other. 
Sometimes  they  are  sent  to  make  a  bridge  over 
Niagara  Fall's,  or  to  build  a  dam  across  a  mountain 
torrent  in  an  hour's  time.  Now  and  then  they 
have  to  rake  off  a  steep  mountain-side  as  you 
might  a  garden-bed,  and  sometimes  to  bury  a 
whole  village  so  quickly  that  the  poor  inhabitants 
do  not  know  what  strange  hand  brought  such 
sudden  destruction  upon  them.  Their  deeds 
often  seem  to  be  cruel,  and  we  cannot  under- 
stand their  meaning ;  but  we  shall  some  time 
know  that  the  loving  Father  who  sent  them 
orders  nothing  for  our  hurt,  but  has  always  a 
a  loving  purpose,  though  it  may  be  hidden. 

While  I  thus  introduce  to  you  the  Frost  Giants, 
let  me  also  present  their  tiny  brethren  and 
sisters,  the  Frost  Fairies,  who  always  accompany 
them  on  their  expeditions  ;  and,  however  terrible 
is  the  deed  that  has  to  be  done,  these  little 
people  adorn  it  with  the  most  lovely  handiwork, 
—  tiny  flowers  and  crystals  and  veils  of  delicate 
lace-work,  fringes  and  spangles  and  star-work 


90         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

and  carving ;  so  that  nothing  is  so  hard  and  ugly 
and  bare  that  they  cannot  beautify  it. 

Now  that  you  are  introduced,  you  will  perhaps 
like  to  join  a  Frost  party  that  started  out  to 
work,  one  day  in  the  early  spring  of  1861,  from 
their  homes  among  the  Olympic  Mountains. 


THE  FROST  GIANTS  91 


NANNIE'S    RUN 

CAN  you  imagine  a  beautiful  oval-shaped  bay, 
almost  encircled  by  a  long  arm  of  sand  stretch- 
ing out  from  the  mainland  ?  In  its  deep  water 
the  largest  vessels  might  ride  at  anchor,  but  at 
the  time  of  my  story  a  lonelier  place  could 
scarcely  be  found.  Now  and  then  Indian  canoes 
glided  over  the  water,  and  at  long  intervals  some 
vessel  from  the  great  island  away  yonder  to  the 
North  visited  the  little  settlement  upon  the  shore 
of  the  bay.  It  is  indeed  a  very  little  settlement, 
—  a  'few  houses  clustered  together  upon  the  sandy 
beach  close  to  the  blue  water ;  behind  the  houses 
rises  a  cliff  crowned  with  great  fir-trees,  standing 
tall  and  dark  in  thick  ranks,  making  a  dense 
forest ;  and  beyond  this  forest,  cold,  snow- 
covered  mountains  lift  their  peaks  against  the 
sky,  —  a  fitting  home  for  the  Frost  Giants. 

Three  streams,  straying  from  the  far-away 
mountains,  and  fed  by  their  melted  snows  and 


92         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

hidden  springs,  find  their  way  through  the  forest, 
leap  and  tumble  over  the  cliff,  and,  passing 
through  the  little  settlement,  reach  the  sea. 
The  people  who  live  here  call  these  little  streams 
runs,  and  one  of  them  is  Nannie's  Run. 

And,  now,  who  is  Nannie  ?  Why,  Nannie  is 
Nannie  Dwight, — a  little  girl  not  yet  five  years 
old,  who  lives  in  the  small  square  house  standing 
under  the  cliff.  She  sits  even  now  on  the  door- 
step, and  her  red  dress  looks  like  one  gay  flower 
brightening  the  sombre  shadow  of  the  firs.  Her 
father  and  mother  came  here  to  live  when  she 
was  but  a  baby,  and  before  there  was  a  single 
house  built  in  the  place ;  and  it  is  out  of 
compliment  to  her  that  one  of  the  streams  has 
been  named  Nannie's  Run. 

While  Nannie  sits  on  the  doorstep,  and  looks 
out  at  the  sea,  watching  for  the  vessel  that  will 
bring  her  father  home  from  Victoria,  we  will  go 
through  the  forest,  and  up  -the  mountain-sides, 
till  we  find  the  home  of.  the  Frost  Giants,  and 
see  what  they  are  about  to-day. 

They  have  been  working  all  winter,  but  not 
quite  so  busily  as  now ;  for  since  yesterday  they 


THE  FROST  GIANTS  93 

have  cracked  that  big  rock  in  two,  and  dug  the 
great  cave  under  the  hill,  and  now  they  are 
gathered  in  council  on  the  mountain-side  that 
overlooks  a  dashing  little  stream.  As  we  fol- 
lowed this  stream  from  the  seashore,  we  happen 
to  know  that  it  is  no  other  than  Nannie's  Run. 
And  as  we  have  already  begun  to  care  for  the 
little  girl,  and  therefore  for  her  namesake,  we  are 
anxious  to  know  what  the  giants  think  of  doing. 
We  have  not  long  to  wait  before  we  shall  see, 
and  hear  too ;  for  a  great  creaking  and  cracking 
begins,  and,  while  we  gaze  astonished,  the 
mountain-side  begins  to  slide,  and  presently,  with 
a  rush  and  a  roar,  dashes  into  the  stream,  and 
chokes  it  with  a  huge  dam  of  earth  and  rocks 
and  trees. 

What  will  the  stream  do  now  ?  For  a  moment 
the  water  leaps  into  the  air,  all  foam  and  sparkle, 
as  if  it  would  jump  over  the  barrier,  and  find  its 
way  to  the  sea  at  any  rate.  But  this  proves 
entirely  unsuccessful ;  and  at  last,  after  whirling 
and  tumbling,  trying  to  creep  under;  trying  to 
leap  over,  it  settles  itself  quietly  in  its  prison, 

as  if  to  think  about  the  matter. 
i 

I 


9-f        STOR/KX  MOl'Ul-.R  XATURE   TOLD 

Now,  if  you  will  stay  and  watch  it  day  after 
day,  you  will  see  what  good  result  will  come 
from  this  waiting ;  for  every  hour  more  and  more 
water  is  running  to  its  aid,  and,  as  its  forces 
increase,  we  begin  to  feel  sure,  that,  although  it 
can  neither  pass  over  nor  under,  it  will  some  day 
be  strong  enough  to  break  through  the  Frost 
Giants'  dam.  And  the  day  comes  at  last,  when, 
summoning  all  its  waters  to  the  attack,  it  makes 
a  breach  in  the  great  earth  wall,  and  in  a  strong, 
grand  column,  as  high  as  this  room,  marches 
away  towards  the  sea. 

As  we  have  the  wings  of  thought  to  travel 
with,  let  us  hurry  back  to  the  settlement,  and 
see  where  Nannie  is  now,  and  tell  the  people, 
if  we  only  can,  what  a  wall  of  water  is  marching 
down  upon  them  ;  for  you  see  the  little  channel 
that  used  to  hold  Nannie's  Run  is  not  a  quarter 
large  enough  for  this  torrent,  that  has  gathered  so 
long  behind  the  dam. 

Peep  in  at  the  window,  and  see  how  Nannie 
stands  at  the  kitchen  table,  cutting  out  little 
cakes  from  a  bit  of  dough  that  her  mother  has 
given  her ;  she  is  all  absorbed  in  her  play,  and 


THE  FROST  GIANTS  95 

her  mother  has  gone  to  look  into  the  oven  at  the 
nicely  browning  loaves. 

Oh,  don't  we  wish  the  house  had  been  built 
up  on  the  cliff  among  the  fir-trees,  safe  above 
the  reach  of  the  water !  But,  alas !  here  it 
stands,  just  in  the  path  that  the  torrent  will 
take,  and  we  have  no  power  to  tell  of  the  danger 
that  is  approaching. 

Mrs.  Dwight  turns  from  the  oven,  and,  passing 
the  window  on  her  way  to  the  table,  suddenly 
sees  the  great  wall  of  water  only  a  few  rods 
from  her  house.  With  one  step  she  reaches  the 
bedroom,  seizes  trfe  blankets  from  the  bed,  wraps 
Nannie  in  them,  and  with  the  little  girl  on  one 
arm,  grasps  Frankie's  hand,  and,  telling  Harry  to 
run  beside  her,  opens  the  door  nearest  the  cliff, 
and  almost  flies  up  its  steep  side. 

Five  minutes  afterwards,  sitting  breathless  on 
the  roots  of  an  old  tree,  with  her  children  safe 
beside  her,  she  sees  the  whole  shore  covered 
with  surging  water,  and  the  houses  swept  into 
the  bay,  tossing  and  drifting  there  like  boats  in 
a  stormy  sea.  And  this  is  what  the  Frost  Giants 
did  to  Nannie's  Run. 


96         S TORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 


THE    INDIANS 

WHAT  will  Nannie  do  now  ?  Here  in  our  New- 
England  towns  it  would  seem  hard  enough  to  have 
one's  house  swept  away  before  one's  eyes ;  but 
then  you  know  you  could  take  the  next  train  of 
cars,  and  go  to  your  aunt  in  Boston,  or  your 
uncle  in  New  York,  to  stay  until  a  new  house 
could  be  prepared  for  you.  But  here  is  Nannie 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  mfles  away  from  any 
such  help;  for  there  are  not  only  no  railroads 
to  travel  upon,  but  not  even  common  roads 
nor  horses  nor  wagons ;  nevertheless,  there  are 
neighbors  who  will  bring  help. 

You  remember  reading  in  your  history,  how, 
when  our  great-great-grandfathers  came  to  this 
country  to  live,  they  found  it  occupied  by  Indians. 
The  Indians  are  all  gone  from  our  part  of  the 
country  now;  but  out  in  the  far  North- West, 
where  Nannie  lives,  they  still  have  their  wigwams 
ind  canoes,  still  dress  in  blankets,  and  wear 


THE  FROST  GIANTS  97 

feathers  on  their  heads,  and  in  that  particular  part 
of  the  country  lives  a  tribe  called  the  Flatheads. 
They  take  this  odd  name  because  of  a  fashion 
they  have  of  binding  a  board  upon  the  top  of  a 
child's  head,  while  he  is  yet  very  young,  in  order 
that  he  may  grow  up  with  a  flattened  head,  which 
is  considered  a  mark  of  beauty  among  these 
savages,  just  as  small  feet  are  so  considered 
among  the  Chinese,  you  know. 

The  Flatheads  are  Nannie's  only  neighbors, 
and  perhaps  you  would  consider  them  rather 
undesirable  friends ;  but  when  I  tell  you  how 
they  came  at  once  with  blankets  and  food,  and 
all  sorts  of  friendly  offers  of  shelter  and  help, 
you  will  think  that  some  white  people  might  well 
take  a  lesson  from  them. 

They  had  been  in  the  habit  of  bringing 
venison  and  salmon  to  the  settlement  for  sale ; 
and  when  Nannie's  mother  tells  them  that  she 
has  no  longer  any  money  to  buy,  they  say,  "  Oh, 
no,  it  is  a  potlach ! "  which  in  their  language 
mean  a  present. 

Happily  the  warm  weather  is  approaching ;  and 
a  little  girl  who  has  lived  out  of  doors  so  much 


98         STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

does  not  find  it  unsafe  to  sleep  in  the  hammock 
which  Hunter  has  slung  for  her  among  the 
trees,  or  even  on  the  ground,  rolled  in  an  Indian 
blanket ;  and  when  her  shoes  wear  out,  she  can 
safely  run  barefooted  in  the  woods  or  on  the 
sand. 

Before  many  weeks  have  passed,  some  of  the 
tall  fir-trees  are  cut  down,  and  a  new  house  is 
built,  this  time  safely  perched  on  top  of  the 
cliff ;  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  Frost  Giants 
have  never  succeeded  in  touching  it. 


HOW  QUERCUS  ALBA  WENT   TO   EXPLORE 
THE  UNDER-WORLD:  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 


HOW  QUERCUS  ALBA  WENT   TO   EXPLORE 
THE  UNDER-WORLD:  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 


QUERCUS  ALBA  lay  on  the  ground,  looking  up 
at  the  sky.  He  lay  in  a  little  brown,  rustic  cradle 
which  would  be  pretty  for  any  baby,  but  was  spe- 
cially becoming  to  his  shining,  bronzed  complexion ; 
for  although  his  name,  Alba,  is  the  Latin  word  for 
white,  he  did  not  belong  to  the  white  race.  He 
was  trying  to  play  with  his  cousins  Coccinea  and 
Rubra ;  but  they  were  two  or  three  yards  away 
from  him,  and  not  one  of  the  three  dared  to  roll 
any  distance,  for  fear  of  rolling  out  of  his  cradle  : 
so  it  wasn't  a  lively  play,  as  you  may  easily  imagine. 
Presently  Rubra,  who  was  a  sturdy  little  fellow, 
hardly  afraid  of  any  thing,  summoned  courage  to 
roll  full  half  a  yard,  and,  having  come  within  speak- 
ing distance,  began  to"  tell  how  his  elder  brother 
had,  that  very  morning,  started  on  the  grand 


102       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

underground  tour,  which  to  the  Quercus  family  is 
what  going  to  Europe  would  be  for  you  and  me. 
Coccinea  thought  the  account  very  stupid  ;  said 
his  brothers  had  all  been,  and  he  should  go  too 
sometime,  he  supposed  ;  and,  giving  a  little  shrug 
of  his  shoulders  which  set  his  cradle  rocking,  fell 
asleep  in  the  very  face  of  his  visitors.  Not  so 
Alba:  this  was  all  news  to  him, — grand  news. 
He  was  young  and  inexperienced,  and,  moreover, 
full  of  roving  fancies  :  so  he  lifted  his  head  as  far 
as  he  dared,  nodded  delightedly  as  Rubra  described 
the  departure,  and,  when  his  cousin  ceased  speak- 
ing, asked  eagerly,  "  And  what  will  he  do  there  ? " 

"Do?"  said  Rubra,  "do?  Why,  he  will  do 
just  what  everybody  else  does  who  goes  on  the 
grand  tour.  What  a  foolish  fellow  you  are,  to  ask 
such  a  question  !  " 

Now,  this  was  no  answer  at  all,  as  you  see 
plainly ;  and  yet  little  Alba  was  quite  abashed  by 
it,  and  dared  not  push  the  question  further  for 
fear  of  displaying  his  ignorance,  —  never  thinking 
that  we  children  are  not  born  with  our  heads  full 
of  information  on  all  subjects,  and  that  the  only 
way  to  fill  them  is  to  push  our  questions  until  we 


QUERCUS  ALBA  103 

are  utterly  satisfied  with  the.  answers  ;  and  that 
no  one  has  reason  to  feel  ashamed  of  ignorance 
which  is  not  now  his  own  fault,  but  will  soon 
become  so  if  he  hushes  his  questions  for  fear  of 
showing  it. 

Here  Alba  made  his  first  mistake.  There  is 
only  one  way  to  correct  a  mistake  of  this  kind ; 
and  it  is  so  excellent  a  way,  that  it  even  brings 
you  out  at  the  end  wiser  than  the  other  course 
could  have  done.  Alba,  I  am  happy  to  say,  re- 
solved at  once  on  this  course.  "  If,"  said  he, 
"  Rubra  does  not  choose  to  tell  me  about  the  grand 
tour,  I  will  go  and  see  for  myself."  It  was  a  brave 
resolve  for  a  little  fellow  like  him.  He  lost  no 
time  in  preparing  to  carry  it  out ;  but,  on  pushing 
against  the  gate  that  led  to  the  underground  road, 
he  found  that  the  frost  had  fastened  it  securely, 
and  he  must  wait  for  a  warmer  day.  In  the  mean 
time,  afraid  to  ask  any  more  questions,  he  yet  kept 
his  ears  open  to  gather  any  scraps  of  information 
that  might  be  useful  for  his  journey. 

Listening  ears  can  always  hear  ;  and  Alba  very 
soon  began  to  learn,  from  the  old  trees  overhead, 
from  the  dry  rustling  leaves  around  him,  and  from 


104       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

the  little  chipping-birds  that  chatted  together 
in  the  sunshine.  Some  said  the  only  advantage 
of  the  grand  tour  was  to  make  one  a  perfect  and 
accomplished  gentleman  ;  others,  that  all  the  use- 
ful arts  were  taught  abroad,  and  no  one  who 
wished  to  improve  the  world  in  which  he  lived 
would  stay  at  home  another  year.  Old  grand- 
father Rubra,  standing  tall  and  grand,  and  stretch- 
ing his  knotty  arms,  as  if  to  give  force  to  his 
words,  said,  "  Of  all  arts,  the  art  of  building  is 
the  noblest,  and  that  can  only  be  learned  by  those 
who  take  the  grand  tour ;  therefore,  all  my  boys 
have  been  sent  long  ago,  and  already  many  of  my 
grandsons  have  followed  them." 

Then  there  was  a  whisper  among  the  leaves  : 
"  All  very  well,  old  Rubra ;  but  did  any  of  your 
sons  or  grandsons  ever  come  back  from  the  grand 
tour  ? " 

There  was  no  answer  ;  indeed,  the  leaves  hadn't 
spoken  loudly  enough  for  the  old  gentleman  to 
hear,  for  he  was  known  to  have  a  fiery  temper, 
and  it  was  scarcely  safe  to  offend  him.  But  the 
little  brown  chipping-birds  said,  one  to  another, 
"  No,  no,  no,  they  never  came  back !  they  never 
came  back ! " 


QUERCUS  ALBA  105 

All  this  sent  a  chill  through  Alba's  heart,  but 

he  still  held  to  his  purpose  ;  and  in  the  night  a 

warm  and  friendly  rain  melted  the  frozen  gateway, 

'and  he  boldly  rolled  out  of  his  cradle  forever,  and, 

slipping  through  the  portal,  was  lost  to  sight. 

His  mother  looked  for  her  baby ;  his  brothers 
and  cousins  rolled  over  and  about,  in  search  for 
him.  Rubra  began  to  feel  sorry  for  the  last  scorn- 
ful words  he  had  said,  and  would  have  petted  his 
little  cousin  with  all  his  heart,  if  he  could  only 
have  had  him  once  again  ;  but  Alba  was  never 
again  seen  by  his  old  friends  and  companions. 


106       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 


THE    UNDER-WORLD 

"  How  dark  it  is  here,  and  how  difficult  for  ona 
to  make  his  way  through  the  thick  atmosphere !  " 
so  thought  little  Alba,  as  he  pushed  and  pushed 
slowly  into  the  soft  mud.  Presently  a  busy  hum 
sounded  all  about  him ;  and,  becoming  accus- 
tomed to  the  darkness,  he  could  see  little  forms 
moving  swiftly  and  industriously  to  and  fro. 

You  children  who  live  above,  and  play  about 
on  the  hillsides  and  in  the  woods,  have  no  idea 
what  is  going  on  all  the  while  under  your  feet ; 
how  the  dwarfs  and  the  fairies  are  working  there, 
weaving  moss  carpets  and  grassblades,  forming 
and  painting  flowers  and  scarlet  mushrooms,  tend- 
ing and  nursing  all  manner  of  delicate  things 
which  have  yet  to  grow  strong  enough  to  push 
up  and  see  the  outside  life,  and  learn  to  bear  its 
cold  winds,  and  rejoice  in  its  sunshine. 

While  Alba  was  seeing  all  this,  he  was  still 
struggling  on,  but  very  slowly;  for  first  he  ran 


QUERCUS  ALBA  107 

against  the  strong  root  of  an  old  tree,  then 
knocked  his  head  upon  a  sharp  stone,  and  finally, 
bruised  and  sore,  tired,  and  quite  in  despair,  he 
sighed  a  great  sigh,  arid  declared  he  could  go 
no  farther.  At  that,  two  odd  little  beings  sprang 
to  his  side ;  the  one  brown  as  the  earth  itself, 
with  eyes  like  diamonds  for  brightness,  and  deft 
little  fingers,  cunning  in  all  works  of  skill.  Pull- 
ing off  his  wisp  of  a  cap,  and  making  a  grotesque 
little  bow,  he  asked,  "  Will  you  take  a  guide  for 
the  under-world  tour?"  —  "That  I  will,"  said 
Alba,  "for  I  no  longer  find  myself  able  to  move 
a  step."  —  "Ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  dwarf,  "of 
course  you  can't  move  in  that  great  body,  the 
ways  are  too  narrow ;  you  must  come  out  of 
yourself  before  you  can  get  on  in  this  journey. 
Put  out  your  foot  now,  and  I  will  show  you  where 
to  step."  —  "  Out  of  myself  ?  "  cried  Alba.  "  Why, 
that  is  to  die  !  My  foot,  did  you  say  ?  I  haven't 
any  feet ;  I  was  born  in  a  cradle,  and  always  lived 
in  it  until  now,  and  could  never  do  any  thing  but 
rock  and  roll." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  again  laughed  the  dwarf,  "hear 
him  talk !     This  is  the  way  with  all  of  them.     No 


108       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

feet,  does  he  say  ?  Why,  he  has  a  thousand,  if 
he  only  knew  it ;  hands  too,  more  than  he  can 
count.  Ask  him,  sister,  and  see  what  he  will  say 
to  you." 

With  that  a  soft  little  voice  said  cheerfully, 
"  Give  me  your  hand,  that  I  may  lead  you  on 
the  upward  part  of  your  journey  ;  for,  poor  little 
fellow,  it  is  indeed  true  that  you  do  not  know 
how  to  live  out  of  your  cradle,  and  we  must  show 
you  the  way  !  " 

Encouraged  by  this  kindly  speech,  Alba  turned 
a  little  towards  the  speaker,  and  was  about  to  say 
(as  his  mother  had  long  ago  taught  him  that  he 
should  in  all  "difficulties),  "  I'll  try,"  when  a  little 
cracking  noise  startled  the  whole  company  ;  and, 
hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  Alba  thrust  out, 
through  a  slit  in  his  shiny  brown  skin,  a  little 
foot  reaching  downward  to  follow  the  dwarf's 
lead,  and  a  little  hand  extending  upward,  quickly 
clasped  by  that  of  the  fairy,  who  stood  smiling 
and  lovely  in  her  fair  green  garments,  with  a 
tender,  tiny  grass-blade  binding  back  her  golden 
hair.  Oh,  what  a  thrill  went  through  Alba  as  he 
felt  this  new  possession,  — a  hand  and  a  foot !  A 


QUERCUS  ALBA  109 

thousand  such,  had  they  not  said  ?  What  it  all 
meant  he  could  only  wonder;  but  the  one  real 
possession  was  at  least  certain,  and  in  that  he 
began  to  feel  that  all  things  were  possible. 

And  now  shall  we  see  where  the  dwarf  led 
him,  and  where  the  fairy,  and  what  was  actually 
done  in  the  underground  tour? 

The  dwarf  had  need  of  his  bright  eyes  and  his 
skilful  hands ;  for  the  soft,  tiny  foot  intrusted  to 
him  was  a  mere  baby,  that  had  to  find  its  way 
through  a  strange,  dark  world ;  and,  what  was 
more,  it  must  not  only  be  guided,  but  also  fed 
and  tended  carefully :  so  the  bright  eyes  go 
before,  and  the  brown  fingers  dig  out  a  roadway, 
and  the  foot  that  has  learned  to  trust  its  guide 
utterly  follows  on.  There  is  no  longer  any 
danger  :  he  runs  against  no  rocks  ;  he  loses  his 
way  among  no  tangled  roots  ;  and  the  hard  earth 
seems  to  open  gently  before  him,  leading  him  to 
the  fields  where  his  own  best  food  lies,  and 
to  hidden  springs  of  sweet,  fresh  water. 

Do  you  wonder  when  I  say  the  foot  must  be 
fed  ?  Aren't  your  feet  fed  ?  To  be  sure,  your 
feet  have  no  mouths  of  their  own ;  but  doesn't 


110       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

the  mouth  in  your  face  eat  for  your  whole  body, 
hands  and  feet,  ears  and  eyes,  f.nd  all  the  rest  ? 
else  how  do  they  grow  ?  The  only  difference 
here  between  you  and  Alba  is,  tha*  his  foot  has 
mouths  of  its  own,  and  as  it  wander*  on  through 
the  earth,  and  finds  any  thing  good  for  food,  eats 
both  for  itself  and  for  the  rest  of  the  body ;  for 
I  must  tell  you,  that,  as  the  little  foot  progresses, 
it  does  not  take  the  body  with  it,  but  only  grows 
longer  and  longer  and  longer,  until,  .while  one  end 
remains  at  home  fastened  to  the  body,  the  other 
end  has  travelled  a  distance,  such  as  would  be 
counted  miles  by  the  atoms  of  people  who  live 
in  the  under-world.  And,  moreover,  the  foot  no 
longer  goes  on  alone  :  others  have  come  by  tens, 
even  by  hundreds,  to  join  it ;  and  Alba  begins  to 
understand  what  the  dwarf  meant  by  thousands. 
Thus  the  feet  travel  on,  running  some  to  this 
side,  some  to  that ;  here  digging  through  a  bed 
of  clay,  and  there  burying  themselves  in  a  soft 
sand-hill,  taking  a  mouthful  of  carbon  here,  and 
of  nitrogen  there.  But  what  are  these  two 
strange  articles  of  food  ?  Nothing  at  all  like 
bread  and  butter,  you  think.  Different,  indeed, 


QUERCUS  ALBA  1 1 1 

they  seem ;  but  you  will  one  day  learn  that  bread 
and  butter  are  made  in  part  of  these  very  same 
things,  and  they  are  just  as  useful  to  Alba  as 
your  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  are  to  you. 
For  just  as  bread  and  butter,  and  other  food, 
build  your  body,  so  carbon  and  nitrogen  are 
going  to  build  his ;  and  you  will  presently  see 
what  a  fine,  large,  strong  body  they  can  make. 
Then,  perhaps,  you  will  be  better  able  to  under- 
stand what  they  are. 

Shall  we  leave  the  feet  to  travel  their  own  way 
for  a  while,  and  see  where  the  fairy  has  led  the 
little  hand? 


112       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 


QUERCUS    ALBA'S    NEW    SIGHT    OF    THE 
UPPER-WORLD 

IT  was  a  soft,  helpless,  little  baby  hand.  Its 
folded  fingers  lay  listlessly  in  the  fairy's  gentle 
grasp.  "  Now  we  will  go  up,"  she  said.  He  had 
thought  he  was  going  down,  and  he  had  heard 
the  chipping-birds  say  he  would  never  come  back 
again.  But  he  had  no  will  to  resist  the  gentle 
motion,  which  seemed,  after  all,  to  be  exactly  what 
he  wanted:  so  he  presently  found  himself  lifted 
out  of  the  dark  earth,  feeling  the  sunshine  again, 
and  stirred  by  the  breeze  that  rustled  the  dry 
leaves  that  lay  all  about  him.  Here  again  were 
all  his  old  companions,  —  the  chipping-birds,  his 
cousins,  old  grandfather  Rubra,  and,  best  of  all, 
his  dear  mother.  But  the  odd  thing  about  it  all 
was,  that  nobody  seemed  to  know  him  :  even  his 
mother,  though  she  stretched  her  arms  towards 
him,  turned  her  head  away,  looking  here  and 
there  for  her  lost  baby,  and  never  seeing  how 


QUERCUS  ALBA  113 

he  stood  gazing  up  into  her  face.  Now  he  began 
to  understand  why  the  chipping-birds  said,  "They 
never  came  back !  they  never  came  back ! "  for 
they  truly  came  in  so  new  a  form  that  none  of 
their  old  friends  recognized  them. 

Every  thing  that  has  hands  wants  to  work ; 
that  is,  hands  are  such  excellent  tools,  that  no 
one  who  is  the  happy  possessor  of  a  pair  is  quite 
happy  until  he  uses  them :  so  Alba  began  to 
have  a  longing  desire  to  build  a  stem,  and  lift 
himself  up  among  his  neighbors.  But  what 
should  he  build  with?  Here  the  little  feet 
answered  promptly,  "  You  want  to  build,  do  you  ? 
Well,  here  is  carbon,  the  very  best  material ; 
there  is  nothing  like  it  for  walls ;  it  makes  the 
most  beautiful,  firm  wood.  Wait  a  minute,  and 
we  will  send  up  some  that  we  have  been  storing 
for  your  use." 

And  the  busy  hands  go  to  work,  and  the  child 
grows  day  by  day.  His  body  and  limbs  are 
brown  now,  but  his  hands  of  a  fine  shining  green. 
And,  having  learned  the  use  of  carbon,  these 
busy  hands  undertake  to  gather  it  for  themselves 
out  of  the  air  about  them,  which  is  a  great 


114       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

storehouse  full  of  many  materials  that  our  eyes 
cannot  see.  And  he  has  also  learned  that  to 
grow  and  to  build  are  indeed  the  same  thing: 
for  his  body  is  taking  the  form  of  a  strong  young 
tree ;  his  branches  are  spreading  for  a  roof  over 
the  heads  of  a  hundred  delicate  flowers,  making 
a  home  for  many  a  bushy-tailed  squirrel  and 
pleasant-voiced  wood-bird.  For,  you  see,  whoever 
builds  cannot  build  for  himself  alone :  all  his 
neighbors  have  the  benefit  of  his  work,  and  all 
enjoy  it  together. 

What  at  the  first  was  so  hard  to  attempt, 
became  grand  and  beautiful  in  the  doing ;  and 
little  Alba,  instead  of  serving  merely  for  a 
squirrel's  breakfast,  as  he  might  have  done  had 
he  not  bravely  ventured  on  his  journey,  stands 
before  us  a  noble  tree,  which  is  to  live  a  hundred 
years  or  more. 

Do  you  want  to  know  what  kind  of  a  tree  ? 

Well,  Lillie,  who  studies  Latin,  will  tell  you 
that  Quercus  means  oak.  And  now  can  you 
tell  me  what  Alba's  rustic  cradle  was,  and  who 
were  his  cousins  Rubra  and  Coccinea  ? 


TREASURE- 
BOXES 


TREASURE-BOXES 


WE  all  have  our  treasure-boxes.  Misers  have 
strong  iron-bound  chests  full  of  gold ;  stately 
ladies,  pearl  inlaid  caskets  for  their  jewels  ;  and 
even  you  and  I,  dear  child,  have  our  own.  Your 
little  box  with  lock  and  key,  that  aunt  Lucy 
gave  you,  where  you  have  kept  for  a  long  time 
your  choicest  paper  doll,  the  peacock  with  spun- 
glass  tail,  and  the  robin's  egg  that  we  picked  up 
on  the  path  under  the  great  trees  that  windy 
day  last  spring,  —  that  is  your  treasure-box.  I  no 
less  have  mine ;  and,  if  you  will  look  with  me,  I 
will  show  you  how  the  trees  and  flowers  have 
theirs,  and  what  is  packed  away  in  them. 

Come  out  in  the  orchard  this  September  day, 
under  the  low-bowed  peach-trees,  where  great 
downy-cheeked  peaches  almost  drop  into  our 
hands.  Sit  on  the  grassy  bank  with  me,  and  I 
will  show  you  the  peach-tree's  treas^ure^bbx. 

"7 


Il8       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

What  does  the  peach-tree  regard  as  most 
precious  ?  If  it  could  speak  in  words,  it  would 
tell  you  its  seed  is  the  one  thing  for  which  it 
cares  most ;  for  .which  it  has  worked  ever  since 
spring,  storing  food,  and  drinking  in  sunshine. 
And  it  is  so  dear  and  valued,  because,  when  the 
peach-tree  itself  dies,  this  seed,  its  child,  may 
still  live  on,  growing  into  a  beautiful  and  fruitful 
tree ;  therefore,  the  mother  tree  cherishes  her 
seed  as  her  greatest  treasure,  and  has  made  for 
it  a  casket  more  beautiful  than  Mrs.  Williams's 
sandal-wood  jewel-box. 

See  the  great  crack  where  this  peach  broke 
from  the  bough.  We  will  pull  it  open  ;  this  is 
opening  the  cover  of  the  outside  casket.  See 
how  rich  was  its  outside  color,  but  how  wonder- 
fully beautiful  the  deep  crimson  fibres  which 
cling  about  the  hard  shell  inside.  For  this  seed 
cannot  be  trusted  in  a  single  covering ;  moreover, 
the  inner  box  is  locked  securely,  and,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  we  haven't  the  key  :  so,  if  I  would  show 
you  the  inside,  we  must  break  the  pretty  box, 
with  its  strong,  ribbed  walls,  and  then  at  last 
we  shall  see  what  the  peach-tree's  treasure-box 
holds. 


TREA SURE-BOXES  1 1 9 

Here,  too,  are  the  apples,  lying  on  the  grass 
at  our  feet ;  we  will  cut  one,  for  it  too  holds  the 
apple-tree's  treasure.  First  comes  the  skin,  rosy 
and  yellow,  a  pretty  firm  wrapping  for  the  out- 
side ;  but  it  sometimes  breaks,  when  a  strong 
wind  tosses  the  apples  to  the  ground,  and  some- 
times the  insects  eat  holes  in  it :  so,  if  this  were 
the  only  covering,  the  treasure  would  hardly  be 
very  safe.  Therefore,  next  we  come  to  the  firm, 
juicy  flesh  of  the  apple,  —  seldom  to  be  broken 
through  by  a  fall,  not  often  eaten  through  by 
insects  ;  but  lest  even  this  should  fail,  we  come  at 
last,  far  in  the  middle,  to  horny  sheaths,  or  cells, 
built  up  together  like  a  little  fortress,  surrounding 
and  protecting  the  brown,  shining  seeds,  which 
we  reach  in  the  very  centre  of  all. 

One  thing  more  let  us  look  at  before  we  leave 
the  apple.  Cut  it  horizontally  through  the 
middle  with  a  sharp  knife,  and  try  how  thin  and 
smooth  a  slice  you  can  make  ;  hold  it  up  to  the 
light,  and  we  shall  see  something  very  beautiful. 
There  in  the  centre  of  the  round  slice  is  the 
delicate  figure  of  a  perfect  apple-blossom,  with 
all  its  petals  spread ;  for  it  was  that  lovely  pink- 


120      STORIES  M 'OTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

and-white  blossom  from  which  the  apple  was 
formed,  — a  tiny  green  ball  at  first,  which  you  may 
see  in  the  spring,  if  you  look  where  the  blossoms 
have  just  fallen.  As  this  little  green  apple  grew, 
it  kept  in  its  very  heart  always  the  image  of  the 
fair  blossom  ;  and  now  that  the  fruit  has  reached 
this  ripe  perfection,  we  may  still  see  the  same 
form. 

The  pears,  too,  the  apricots  and  plums,  you 
may  see  for  yourselves';  you  do  not  need  me  to 
tell  their  stories. 

But  come  down  to  the  garden,  for  there  I  have 
some  of  the  oddest  and  prettiest  boxes  to  show. 
The  pease  and  beans  have  long  canoes,  satin-lined 
and  waterproof.  On  what  voyage  they  are  bound, 
I  cannot  say. 

The  tall  milk-weed  that  grew  so  fast  all 
summer,  and  threatened  to  over-run  the  garden, 
now  pays  well  for  its  lodging  by  the  exquisite 
treasure  which  its  rough-covered,  pale-green  bag 
holds.  Press  your  thumb  on  its  closed  edges  ; 
for  this  casket  opens  with  a  spring,  and,  if  it  is 
ripe  and  ready,  it  will  unclose  with  a  touch,  arid 
show  you  a  little  fish,  with  silver  scales  laid  over 


TREA  SURE-BOXES  1 2 1 

a  covering  of  long,  silken  threads,  finer  and  more 
delicate  than  any  of  the  sewing-silk  in  your 
mother's  work-box.  This  silk  is  really  a  wing- 
like  float  for  each  scale ;  and  the  scales  are  seeds, 
which  will  not  stay  upon  the  little  fish,  but  long 
to  float  away  with  their  silken  trails,  and,  alight- 
ing here  and  there,  cling  and  seek  for  a  good 
place  to  plant  themselves. 

See,  too,  how  the  poppy  has  provided  herself 
with  a  deep,  round  box  of  a  delicate  brown  color  ; 
the  carved  lid  might  have  been  made  by  the  Chi- 
nese, it  looks  so  much  like  their  fine  work.  Full 
to  the  brim,  this  box  is.  The  poppy  is  rich  in  the 
autumn ;  brown  seeds  by  the  hundred,  packed 
away  for  another  year's  use. 

Here  are  the  balsams, — touch-me-nots,  we  used 
to  call  them  when  I  was  a  child ;  for,  poor  things, 
so  slightly  have  they  locked  up  their  treasure, 
that  even  the  baby's  little  finger  will  open  the 
rough-feeling  oblong  casket  with  a  snap  and  a 
spring,  and  send  the  jewels  flying  all  over  the 
garden-bed,  where  you  will  scarcely  be  able  to  find 
them  again. 

Roses  have  beautiful  round,  red  globes  to  hold 


122       STORIES  M OTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

their  precious  seeds ;  and  so  firm  and  strong 
are  they,  that  the  winter  winds  and  snows  even 
do  not  break  or  open  them.  I  have  found  them 
dashed  with  sea-spray,  or  on  dusty  roadsides ; 
everywhere  strong  and  safe,  making  the  dullest 
day  bright  with  their  cheery  color. 

If  we  go  to  the  wet  meadows  and  stream-sides, 
we  shall  find  how  the  scarlet  cardinal  has  packed 
away  its  minute  seeds  in  a  pretty  little  box  with 
two  or  three  partings  inside ;  and  the  cowslip  has 
a  cluster  of  oval  bags  as  full  as  they  can  hold. 

Among  the  rocks,  harebells  have  their  tiny  five- 
parted  chests ;  and  the  columbine,  its  standing 
group  of  narrow  brown  sacks,  which  show,  if  we 
open  them,  hundreds  of  tiny  seeds. 

But  in  the  woods,  the  oak  has  stored  her  treas- 
ures in  the  acorn  ;  the  chestnut,  in  its  bur  which 
holds  the  nut  so  safely.  The  walnut  and  beech 
trees  have  also  their  hard,  safe  caskets,  and  the 
boys  who  go  nutting  know  very  well  what  is 
inside. 

Autumn  is  the  time  to  open  these  treasures. 
It  takes  all  the  spring  and  summer  to  prepare 
them,  and  some  even  need  all  of  September  too, 


TREASURE-BOXES  1 2  3 

before  they  are  ready  to  open  the  little  covers. 
But  go  into  the  garden  and  orchard,  into  the 
meadows  and  woods,  and  you  have  not  far  to  look 
before  finding  enough  to  prove  that  the  plants,  no 
less  than  the  children,  have  treasures  to  keep,  and 
often  most  charming  boxes  to  keep  them  in. 


A    PEEP    INTO    ONE    OF    GOD'S 
STOREHOUSES 


A    PEEP    INTO    ONE    OF    GOD'S 
STOREHOUSES 


ONCE  there  was  a  father  who  thought  he  would 
build  for  his  children  a  beautiful  home,  putting 
into  it  every  thing  they  could  need  or  desire 
throughout  their  lives.  So  he  built  the  beautiful 
house  ;  and  any  one  just  to  look  at  the  outside  of 
it  would  exclaim,  How  lovely !  For  its  roof  was 
a  wide,  blue  dome  like  the  sky,  and  the  lofty 
rooms  had  arching  ceilings  covered  with  tracery 
of  leaves  and  waving  boughs.  The  floors  were 
carpeted  with  velvet,  and  the  whole  was  lighted 
with  lamps  that  shone  like  stars  from  above. 
The  sweetest  perfumes  floated  through  the  air, 
while  thousands  of  birds  answered  the  music  of 
fountains  with  their  songs.  And  yet,  when  you 
have  seen  all  this,  you  have  not  seen  the  best 
part  of  it :  for  the  house  has  been  so  wonderfully 

127 


128       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

contrived,  that  it  is  full  of  mysterious  closets, 
storehouses,  and  secret  drawers,  all  locked  by 
magic  keys,  or  fastened  by  concealed  springs ; 
and  each  one  is  filled  with  something  precious  or 
useful  or  beautiful  to  look  at,  —  piles  upon  piles, 
and  heaps  upon  heaps  of  wonderful  stores.  Every 
thing  that  the  children  could  want,  or  dream  of 
wanting,  is  laid  up  here ;  but  yet  they  are  not 
to  be  told  any  thing  about  it.  They  are  to  be 
put  into  this  delightful  home,  and  left  to  find 
it  all  out  for  themselves. 

At  first,  you  know,  they  will  only  play.  They 
will  roll  on  the  soft  carpets,  and  listen  to  the 
fountain  and  the  birds,  and  wander  from  room 
to  room  to  see  new  beauties  everywhere ;  but 
some  day  a  boy,  full  of  curiosity,  prying  here  and 
there  into  nooks  and  corners,  will  touch  one  of 
the  hidden  springs  ;  a  door  will  fly  open,  and  one 
storehouse  of  treasures  will  be  revealed.  How  he 
will  shout,  and  call  upon  his  brothers  and  sisters 
to  admire  with  him ;  how  they  will  pull  out  the 
treasures,  and  try  to  learn  how  to  use  the  new 
and  strange  materials.  What  did  my  father  mean 
this  for  ?  Why  did  he  give  that  so  odd  a  shape, 


ONE  OF  GOD'S  STOREHOUSES          129 

or  so  strange  a  covering  ?  And  so  through  many 
questions,  and  many  experiments,  they  learn  at 
last  how  to  use  the  contents  of  this  one  store- 
house. But  do  you  imagine  that  sensible  children, 
after  one  such  discovery,  would  rest  satisfied  ? 
Of  course  they  would  explore  and  explore ;  try 
every  panel,  and  press  every  spring,  until,  one 
by  one,  all  the  closets  should  be  opened,  and  all 
the  treasures  brought  out.  And  then  how  could 
they  show  their  gratitude  to  the  dear  father  who 
had  taken  such  pains  to  prepare  this  wonderful 
house  for  them  ?  The  least  they  could  do  would 
be  to  try  to  use  every  thing  for  the  purposes 
intended,  and  not  to  destroy  or  injure  any  of 
the  precious  gifts  prepared  so  lovingly  for  their 
use. 

Now,  God,  our  loving  Father,  has  made  for  us, 
for  you  and  for  me  and  for  little  Madge  and 
Jenny,  and  for  all  the  grown  people  and  children 
too,  just  such  a  house.  It  is  this  earth  on  which 
we  live.  You  can  see  the  blue  roof,  and  the 
arched  ceilings  of  the  rooms,  with  their  canopy 
of  leaves  and  drooping  boughs,  and  the  velvet- 
covered  floors,  and  the  lights  and  birds  and  foun- 


130      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

tains  ;  but  do  you  know  any  of  the  secret  closets  ? 
Have  you  found  the  key  or  spring  of  a  single 
one,  or  been  called  by  your  mother  or  father  or 
brother  or  sister  to  take  a  peep  into  one  of  them  ? 

If  you  have  not,  perhaps  you  would  like  to  go 
with  me  to  examine  one  that  was  opened  a  good 
many  years  ago,  but  contains  such  valuable  things 
that  the  uses  of  all  of  them  have  not  yet  been 
found  out,  and  their  beauty  is  just  beginning  to 
be  known. 

The  doorway  of  this  storehouse  lies  in  the  side 
of  a  hill.  It  is  twice  as  wide  as  the  great  barn- 
door where  the  hay-carts  are  driven  in ;  and  two 
railroad-tracks  run  out  at  it,  side  by  side,  with  a 
little  foot-path  between  them.  The  entrance  is 
light,  because  it  opens  so  wide ;  but  we  can  see 
that  the  floor  slopes  downward,  and  the  way  looks 
dark  and  narrow  before  us.  We  shall  need  a 
guide;  and  here  comes  one, — a  rough-looking 
man,  with  smutty  clothes,  and  an  odd  little  lamp 
covered  with  wire  gauze,  fastened  to  the  front  of 
his  cap.  He  is  one  of  the  workmen  employed 
to  bring  the  treasures  out  of  this  dark  storehouse ; 
and  he  will  show  us,  by  the  light  of  his  lamp, 


ONE  OF  GOD'S  STOREHOUSES  131 

some  of  the  wonders  of  the  place.  Walk  down 
the  sloping  foot-path  now,  and  be  careful  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  the  little  cars  that  are  coming 
and  going  on  each  side  of  you,  loaded  on  one 
side,  and  empty  on  the  other,  and  seeming  to 
run  up  and  down  by  themselves.  But  you  will 
find  that  they  are  really  pulled  and  pushed  by 
an  engine  that  stands  outside  the  doorway  and 
reaches  them  by  long  chains.  At  last  we  reach 
the  foot  of  the  slope ;  and,  as  our  eyes  become 
accustomed  to  the  faint  light,  we  can  see  pas- 
sages leading  to  the  right  and  the  left,  and  square 
chambers  cut  out  in  the  solid  hill.  So  this  great 
green  hill,  upon  which  you  might  run  or  play,  is 
inside  like  what  I  think  some  of  those  large  ant- 
hills must  be, — traversed  by  galleries,  and  full  of 
rooms  and  long  passages.  All  about  we  see  men 
like  our  guide,  working  by  the  light  of  their  little 
lamps.  We  hear  the  echoing  sound  of  the  tools  ; 
and  we  see  great  blocks  and  heaps  that  they  have 
broken  away,  and  loaded  into  little  cars  that  stand 
ready,  here  and  there,  to  be  drawn  by  mules  to 
the  foot  of  the  slope. 

Now,  are  you  curious  to  know  what  this  treasure 


132      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

is  ?  Have  you  seen  already  that  it  is  only  coal, 
and  do  you  wonder  that  I  think  it  is  so  precious  ? 
Look  a  little  closer,  while  our  guide  lets  the 
light  of  his  lamp  fall  upon  the  black  wall  at 
your  side.  Do  you  see  the  delicate  tracery  of 
ferns,  more  beautiful  than  the  fairest  drawing. 
See,  beneath  your  feet  is  the  marking  of  great 
tree-trunks  lying  aslant  across  the  floor,  and  the 
forms  of  gigantic  palm-leaves  strewed  among 
them.  Here  is  something  different,  rounded  like 
a  nut-shell ;  you  can  split  off  one  side,  and  ' 
behold  there  is  the  nut  lying  snugly  as  does  any 
chestnut  in  its  bur! 

Did  you  notice  the  great  pillars  of  coal  that 
are  left  to  uphold  the  roof  ?  Let  us  look  at 
them  ;  for  perhaps  we  can  examine  them  more 
closely  than  we  can  the  roof,  and  the  sides  of 
these  halls.  Here  are  mosses  and  little  leaves, 
and  sometimes  an  odd-looking  little  body  that  is 
not  unlike  some  of  the  sea-creatures  we  found 
at  the  beach  last  summer  ;  and  every  thing  is 
made  of  coal,  nothing  but  coal.  How  did  it 
happen,  anfl  what  does  it  mean?  Ferns  and 
palms,  mosses  and  trees  and  animals,  all  perfect, 


ONE  OF  GOD'S  STOREHOUSES          133 

all  beautiful,  and  yet  all  hidden  away  under  this 
hill,  and  turned  into  shining  black  coal. 

Now,  I  can  very  well  remember  when  I  first 
saw  a  coal  fire,  and  how  odd  it  looked  to  see 
what  seemed  to  be  burning  stones.  For,  when  I 
was  a  little  girl,  we  always  had  logs  of  wood 
blazing  in  an  open  fireplace,  and  so  did  many 
other  people,  and  coal  was  just  coming  into  use 
for  fuel.  What  should  we  have  done,  if  every- 
body had  kept  on  burning  wood  to  this  day? 
There  would  have  been  scarcely  a  tree  left  stand- 
ing; for  think  of  all  the  locomotives  and  engines 
in  factories,  besides  all  the  fires  in  houses  and 
churches  and  schoolhouses.  But  God  knew  that 
we  should  have  need  of  other  fuel  besides  wood, 
and  so  he  made  great  forests  to  grow  on  the 
earth  before  he  had  made  any  men  to  live  upon 
it.  These  forests  were  of  trees,  different  in 
some  ways  from  those  we  have  now,  great  ferns 
as  tall  as  this  house,  and  mosses  as  high  as  little 
trees,  and  palm-leaves  of  enormous  size.  And, 
when  they  were  all  prepared,  he  planned  how 
they  should  best  be  stored  up  for  the  use  of  his 
children,  who  would  not  be  here  to  use  them  for 


134      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

many  thousand  years  to  come.  So  he  let  them 
grow  and  ripen  and  fall  to  the  ground,  and  then 
the  great  rocks  were  piled  above  them  to  crowd 
them  compactly  together,  and  they  were  heated 
and  heavily  pressed,  until,  as  the  ages  went  by, 
they  changed  slowly  into  these  hard,  black, 
shining  stones,  and  became  better  fuel  than  any 
wood,  because  the  substance  of  wood  was  con- 
centrated in  them.  Then  the  hills  were  piled  up 
on  top  of  it  all ;  but  here  and  there  some  edge  of 
a  coal-bed  was  tilted  up,  and  appeared  above  the 
ground.  This  served  for  a  hint  to  curious  men, 
to  make  them  ask  "  What  is  this  ? "  and  "  What 
is  it  good  for?"  and  so  at  last,  following  their 
questions,  to  find  their  way  to  the  secret  stores, 
and  make  an  open  doorway,  and  let  the  world  in. 

So  much  for  the  fuel ;  but  God  meant  some- 
thing else  besides  fuel  when  he  packed  this  closet 
for  his  children.  At  first  they  only  understood 
this  simplest  and  plainest  value  of  the  coal. 
But  there  were  some  things  that  troubled  the 
miners  very  much  :  one  was  gas  that  would  take 
fire  from  their  lamps,  and  burn,  making  it 
dangerous  for  men  to  go  into  the  passages  where 


ONE  OF  GOD'S  STOREHOUSES  135 

they  were  likely  to  meet  it.  But  by  and  by  the 
wise  men  thought  about  it,  and  said  to  them- 
selves, We  must  find  out  what  useful  purpose 
God  made  the  gas  for :  we  know  that  he  does  not 
make  any  thing  for  harm  only.  The  thought 
came  to  them  that  it  might  be  prepared  from 
coal,  and  conducted  through  pipes  to  our  houses 
to  take  the  place  of  lamps  or  candles,  which 
until  that  time  had  been  the  only  light.  But, 
after  making  the  gas,  there  was  a  thick,  pitchy 
substance  left  from  the  coal,  called  coal-tar.  It 
was  only  a  trouble  to  the  gas-makers,  who  had 
no  use  for  it,  and  even  threw  it  away,  until  some 
one,  more  thoughtful  than  the  others,  found  out 
that  water  would  not  pass  through  it.  And  so 
it  began  to  be  used  to  cover  roofs  of  buildings, 
and,  mixed  with  some  other  substances,  made  a 
pavement  for  streets  ;  and  being  spread  over  iron- 
work it  protected  it  from  rust.  Don't  you  see 
how  many  uses  we  have  found  for  this  refuse 
coal-tar  ?  And  the  finest  of  all  is  yet  to  come ; 
for  the  chemists  got  hold  of  it,  and  distilled  and 
refined  it,  until  they  prepared  from  the  black, 
dirty  pitch  lovely  emerald-colored  crystals  which 


136      STORtES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

had  the  property  of  dying  silk  and  cotton  and 
wool  in  beautiful  colors,  —  violet,  magenta,  purple, 
or  green.  What  do  you  think  of  that  from  the 
coal-tar.  When  you  have  a  new  ribbon  for  your 
hat,  or  a  pretty  red  dress,  or  your  grandmamma 
buys  a  new  violet  ribbon  for  her  cap,  just  ask  if 
they  are  dyed  with  aniline  colors ;  and  if  the 
answer  is  "  Yes,"  you  may  know  that  they  came 
from  the  coal-tar.  Besides  the  dyes,  we  shall 
also  have  left  naphtha,  useful  in  making  varnish, 
and  various  oils  that  are  used  in  more  ways  than 
I  can  stop  to  tell  you,  or  you  would  care  now  to 
hear.  If  your  cousin  Annie  has  a  jet  belt-clasp 
or  bracelet,  and  if  you  find  in  aunt  Edith's  box 
of  old  treasures  an  odd-shaped  brooch  of  jet,  you 
may  remember  the  coal  again  ;  for  jet  is  only  one 
kind  of  lignite,  which  is  a  name  for  a  certain 
preparation  of  coal. 

But  here  is  another  surprise  of  a  different  kind. 
You  have  seen  boxes  of  hard,  smooth,  white 
candles  with  the  name  paraffine  marked  on  the 
cover.  Should  you  think  the  black  coal  could 
ever  undergo  such  a  change  as  to  come  out  in 
the  form  of  these  white  candles?  Go  to  the 


ONE  OF  GOD'S  STOREHOUSES          137 

factory  where  they  are  made,  and  you  can  see 
the  whole  process ;  and  then  you  will  understand 
one  more  of  God's  meanings  for  coal. 

And  all  this  time  I  have  not  said  a  word  about 
how,  while  the  great  forests  lay  under  pressure 
for  millions  of  years,  the  oils  that  were  in  the 
growing  plants  (just  as  oils  are  in  many  growing 
plants  now)  were  pressed  out,  and  flowed  into 
underground  reservoirs,  lying  hidden  there,  until 
one  day  not  many  years  ago  a  man  accidentally 
bored  into  one.  Up  came  the  oil,  spouting  and 
running  over,  gushing  out  and  streaming  down  to 
a  little  river  that  ran  near  by.  As  it  floated  on  the 
surface  of  the  water  (for  oil  and  water  will  not 
mix,  you  know),  the  boys,  for  mischief,  set  fire  to 
it,  and  a  stream  of  fire  rolled  along  down  the  river  ; 
proving  to  everybody  who  saw  it,  that  a  new  light, 
as  good  as  gas,  had  come  from  the  coal.  Now 
those  of  us  who  have  kerosene  lamps  may  thank 
the  oil-wells  that  were  prepared  for  us  so  many 
years  ago. 

When  your  hands  or  lips  are  cracked  and  rough 
from  the  cold,  does  your  mother  ever  put  on 
glycerine  to  heal  them  ?  If  she  does,  you  are 


138       STORIES  M 'OTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

indebted  again  to  the   coal  oil,  for  of  that  it  is 
partly  made. 

And  now  let  me  tell  you  that  almost  all  the 
uses  for  coal  have  been  found  out  since  I  was  a 
child  ;  and,  by  the  time  you  are  men  and  women, 
you  may  be  sure  that  as  many  moie  will  be  dis- 
covered, if  not  from  that  storehouse,  certainly 
from  some  of  the  many  others  that  our  good 
Father  has  prepared  for  us,  and  hidden  among  the 
mountains  or  in  the  deserts,  or  perhaps  under 
your  very  feet  to-day ;  for  thousands  of  people 
walked  over  those  hills  of  coal,  before  one  saw  the 
treasures  that  lay  hidden  there.  I  have  only  told 
you  enough  to  teach  you  how  to  look  for  your- 
selves ;  a  peep,  you  know,  is  all  I  promised  you. 
Sometime  we  may  open  another  door  together. 


THE    HIDDEN    LIGHT 


THE    HIDDEN    LIGHT 


THERE  were  plenty  of  gold-green  beetles  in  the 
forest.  Their  violet-colored  cousins  also  held 
royal  state  there  ;  and  scarlet  or  yellow  with  black 
trimmings  was  the  uniform  of  many  a  gay  troop 
that  careered  in  splendor  through  the  vine-hung 
aisles  of  the  hot,  damp  woods.  But  clinging  to 
the  gray  bark  of  some  tree,  or  lying  concealed 
among  the  damp  leaves  in  a  swamp,  was  the  gay- 
est and  fairest  of  them  all,  if  the  truth  be  told. 

A  little  blackish-brown  bug,  dingy  and  hairy, 
not  pleasant  to  look  upon,  you  will  say;  surely 
not  related  to  such  winged  splendors  as  play  in 
the  sunlight.  Yet  he  is  true  first  cousin  to  the 
green  and  gold,  or  to  the  royal  violet ;  has  as  fair 
a  title  to  a  place  in  your  regard,  and  will  prove  it, 
if  you  will  only  wait  his  time.  He  is  like  those 
plain  people  whom  we  pass  every  day  without 

141 


142      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

notice,  until  some  great  trial  or  difficulty  calls  out 
a  hidden  power  within  them,  and  they  flash  into 
greatness  in  some  noble  action,  and  prove  their 
kinship  to  God. 

We  need  not  wait  long ;  for  as  soon  as  the  sun 
has  set,  our  dull,  blackish  bug  unfolds  his  wings 
and  reveals  his  latent  glory.  He  becomes  a  star,  a 
spark  from  the  sun's  very  self.  If  you  can  prevail 
upon  him  to  condescend  to  attend  you,  you  may 
read  or  write  by  his  light  alone. 

But  come  with  me  to  this  Indian's  hut,  where 
instead  of  lamp,  candle,  or  torch,  three  or  four 
of  these  luminous  insects  make  all  the  dwelling 
bright.  See  the  Indian  hunter  preparing  for  a 
journey,  or  a  raid  upon  the  forest  beasts,  by  fasten- 
ing to  his  hands  and  feet  the  little  lantern-flies 
that  shall  make  the  pathway  light  before  him. 

When  the  Indian  wants  his  brilliant  little 
servants,  he  goes  out  on  some  little  hillock, 
waving  a  lighted  torch  and  calling  them  by  name, 
"  cucuie,  cucuie ; "  and  quickly  they  crowd  around 
him  in  troops. 

And  here  I  must  tell  you  a  little  Japanese  story. 
The  young  lady  fire-fly  is  courted  by  her  many 


THE  HIDDEN  LIGHT  143 

suitors,  who  themselves  carry  no  light.  She  is 
shy  and  reserved.  She  will  not  accept  the  atten- 
tions ;  but  when  so  importuned  that  she  sees  no 
other  escape,  she  cries,  "  Let  him  who  really 
loves  me,  go  bring  me  a  light  like  my  own,  as  a 
proof  of  his  affection."  Then  the  daring  lovers 
rush  blindly  at  the  nearest  fire  or  candle,  and 
perish  in  the  flame. 

But  to  return  to  the  Indian.  Not  only  do  his 
lantern-flies  illuminate  his  path,  but  they  go  on 
before  him,  like  an  advance  guard,  to  clear  the 
road  of  its  infecting  mosquitoes,  gnats,  and  other 
troublesome  insects,  which  they  seize  and  devour 
on  the  wing. 

No  harm  would  the  Indian  do  to  his  little  torch- 
bearer  ;  for,  besides  the  service  he  renders,  does  he 
not  embody  a  portion  of  the  sun  god,  the  holy 
fire  ?  And  there  are  times,  when,  with  reverent 
awe,  these  simple  forest  children  think  they  see  in 
the  cucuie  the  souls  of  their  departed  friends. 

And  now  if  we  leave  the  forest  and  enter  the 
gay  ball-room  of  some  tropical  city,  we  shall  find 
that  the  cucuie  is  a  cosmopolitan,  at  home  alike 
in  palace  and  in  hut,  in  forest  and  city.  Not 


IJ4      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

only  does  he,  as  a  wise  little  four-year-old  friend 
of  mine  said,  "  light  the  toads  to  bed,"  but, 
restrained  by  invisible  folds  of  gauze,  he  flutters 
in  the  hair  of  the  fairest  ladies,  and  rivals  those 
earth-stars  the  diamonds. 

But  it  is  hardly  fair  to  show  only  the  bright 
side,  even  of  a  cucuie  ;  and  in  justice  I  must  tell 
that  the  sugar-planters  see  with  dismay  their 
little  torches  among  the  canes.  For  although 
mosquitoes  and  gnats  will  do  for  food  in  the 
forests  where  sugar  is  not  to  be  had,  who  would 
taste  them  when  a  field  of  cane  is  all  before  you, 
where  to  choose  ? 


SIXTY-TWO    LITTLE    TADPOLES 


SIXTY-TWO    LITTLE    TADPOLES 


LOOK  at  this  mass  of  white  jelly  floating  in  a 
bowl  of  pond  water.  It  is  clear  and  delicate, 
formed  of  little  globes  the  size  of  pease,  held 
together  in  one  rounded  mass.  In  each  globe 
is  a  black  dot. 

I  have  it  all  in  my  room,  and  I  watch  it  every 
day.  Before  a  week  passes,  the  black  dots  have 
lengthened  into  little  fishy  bodies,  each  lying 
curled  in  his  globe  of  jelly,  for  these  globes  are 
eggs,  and  these  dots  are  soon  to  be  little  living 
animals  ;  we  will  see  of  what  kind. 

Presently  they  begin  to  jerk  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  perform  such  simple  gymnastics 
as  the  small  accommodations  of  the  egg  will 
allow ;  and  at  last  one  morning,  to  my  delight, 
I  find  two  or  three  of  the  little  things  free  from 
the  egg,  and  swimming  like  so  many  tiny  fishes 

147 


148       STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

in  my  bowl  of  water.  How  fast  they  come  out 
now ;  five  this  morning,  but  twenty  to-night,  and 
thrice  as  many  to-morrow !  The  next  day  I  con- 
clude that  the  remaining  eggs  will  not  hatch, 
for  they  still  show  only  dull,  dead-looking  dots  : 
so  reluctantly  I  throw  them  away,  wash  out  my 
bowl,  and  fill  it  anew  with  pond  water.  But, 
before  doing  this,  I  had  to  catch  all  my  little 
family,  and  put  them  safely  into  a  tumbler  to 
remain  during  their  house-cleaning.  This  was 
hard  work ;  but  I  accomplished  it  with  the  help 
of  a  teaspoon,  and  soon  restored  them  to  a  fresh, 
clean  home. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  you  all  their  history ; 
for  never  did  little  things  grow  faster,  or  change 
more  wonderfully,  than  they. 

One  morning  I  found  them  all  arranged  round 
the  sides  of  the  bowl  in  regular  military  ranks, 
as  straight  and  stiff  as  a  company  on  dress  parade. 
It  was  then  that  I  counted  them,  and  discovered 
that  there  were  just  sixty-two. 

You  would  think,  at  first  sight,  that  these  sixty- 
two  brothers  and  sisters  were  all  exactly  alike  ; 
but,  after  watching  them  a  while,  you  see  that 


SIXTY-TWO  LITTLE   TADPOLES         149 

one  begins  to  distinguish  himself  as  stronger 
and  more  advanced  than  any  of  the  others, — the 
captain,  perhaps,  of  the  military  company.  Soon 
he  sports  a  pair  of  little  feathery  gills  on  each 
side  of  his  head,  as  a  young  officer  might  sport 
his  mustache ;  but  these  gills,  unlike  the  mus- 
tache, are  for  use  as  well  as  for  ornament,  and 
serve  him  as  breathing  tubes. 

How  the  little  fellows  grow  !  no  longer  a  slim 
little  fish,  but  quite  a  portly  tadpole  with  rounded 
body  and  long  tail,  but  still  with  no  expression 
in  his  blunt-nosed  face,  and  only  two  black- 
looking  pits  where  the  eyes  are  to  grow. 

The  others  are  not  slow  to  follow  their  captain's 
example.  Day  after  day  some  new  little  fellow 
shows  his  gills,  and  begins  to  swim  by  paddling 
with  his  tail  in  a  very  stylish  manner. 

And  now  a  sad  thing  happens  to  my  family  of 
sixty-two,  —  something  which  would  never  have 
happened  had  I  left  the  eggs  at  home  in  their 
own  pond ;  for  there  there  are  plenty  of  tiny 
water-plants,  whose  little  leaves  and  stems  serve 
for  many  a  delicious  meal  to  young  tadpoles.  I 
did  not  feed  them,  not  knowing  what  to  give 


150      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

them,  and  half  imagining  that  they  could  live 
very  well  upon  water  only;  and  so  it  happened 
that  one  morning,  when  I  was  taking  them  out 
with  a  spoon  as  usual,  to  give  them  fresh  water, 
I  counted  only  fifty.  Where  were  the  others  ? 

At  the  bottom  of  the  bowl  lay  a  dozen  little 
tails,  and  I  was  forced  to  believe  that  the  stronger 
tadpoles  had  taken  their  weaker  brothers  for  supper. 

I  didn't  like  to  have  my  family  broken  up  in 
this  way,  and  yet  I  didn't  at  that  time  know 
what  to  give  them :  so  the  painful  proceeding 
was  not  checked  ;  and  day  after  day  my  strongest 
tadpoles  grew  even  stronger,  and  the  tails  of  the 
weaker  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  bowl. 

The  captain  throve  finely,  had  clear,  bright 
eyes,  lost  his  feathery  gills,  and  showed  through 
his  thin  skin  that  he  had  a  set  of  excellent  legs 
folded  up  inside.  At  last,  one  day,  he  kicked 
out  the  two  hind  ones,  and  after  that  was  never 
tired  of  displaying  his  new  swimming  powers. 
The  fore-legs  following  in  due  time ;  and  when 
all  this  was  done,  the  tail,  which  he  no  longer 
needed  to  steer  with,  dropped  off,  and  my  largest 
tadpole  became  a  little  frog. 


SIXTY-TWO  LITTLE   TADPOLES         151 

His  brothers  and  sisters,  such  of  them  as  were 
left  (for,  I  grieve  to  say,  he  had  required  a  great 
many  hearty  meals  to  enable  him  to  reach  the 
frog  state),  followed  his  illustrious  example  as 
soon  as  they  were  able ;  and  then,  of  course,  my 
little  bowl  of  water  was  no  suitable  home  for 
them ;  so  away  they  went  out  into  the  grass, 
among  the  shallow  pools,  and  into  the  swamps. 
I  never  knew  exactly  where ;  and  I  am  afraid  that, 
should  I  meet  even  my  progressive  little  captain 
again,  I  should  hardly  recognize  him,  so  grown  and 
altered  he  would  ,be.  He  no  longer  devours  his 
brothers,  but,  with  a  tongue  as  long  as  his  body, 
seizes  slugs  and  insects,  and  swallows  them 
whole. 

In  the  winter  he  sleeps  with  his  brothers  and 
sisters,  with  the  bottom  of  some  pond  or  marsh 
for  a  bed,  where  they  all  pack  themselves  away, 
hundreds  together,  laid  so  closely  that  you  can't 
distinguish  one  from  another. 

But  early  in  the  spring  you  may  hear  their 
loud  croaking;  and  when  the  March  sun  has 
thawed  the  ice  from  the  ponds,  the  mother-frogs 


152      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

are  all  very  busy  with  their  eggs,  which  they 
leave  in  the  shallow  water,  —  round  jelly-like 
masses,  like  the  one  I  told  you  of  at  the  begin- 
ning of  this  story,  made  up  of  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  eggs.  For  the  frog  mother  hopes  for 
a  large  family  of  children,  and  she  knows,  by  sad 
experience,  that  no  sooner  are  they  born  than 
the  fishes  snap  them  up  by  the  dozen ;  and  even 
after  they  have  found  their  legs,  and  begin  to 
feel  old,  and  competent  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, the  snakes  and  the  weasels  will  not 
hesitate  to  take  two  or  three  for  breakfast,  if 
they  come  in  the  way.  So  you  see  the  mother- 
frog  has  good  reason  for  laying  so  many  eggs. 

The  toads  too,  who,  by  the  way,  are  cousins  to 
the  frogs,  come  down  in  April  to  lay  their  eggs 
also  in  the  water,  —  long  necklaces  of  a  double 
row  of  fine  transparent  eggs,  each  one  showing 
its  black  dot,  which  is  to  grow  into  a  tadpole, 
and  swim  about  with  its  cousins,  the  frog 
tadpoles,  while  they  all  look  so  much  alike  that  I 
fancy  their  own  mothers  do  not  know  them 
apart. 


SIXTY-TWO  LITTLE   TADPOLES 


153 


I  once  picked  up  a  handful  of  them,  and  took 
them  home.  One  grew  up  to  be  a  charming 
little  tree-toad,  while  some  of  his  companions 
gave  good  promise,  by  their  big  awkward  forms, 
of  growing  by  and  by  into  great  bull-frogs. 


GOLDEN-ROD 
AND  ASTERS 


GOLDEN-ROD  AND  ASTERS 


Do  you  know  that  flowers,  as  well  as  people, 
live  in  families  ?  Come  into  the  garden,  and  I 
will  show  you  how.  Here  is  a  red  rose :  the 
beautiful  bright-colored  petals  are  the  walls  of 
the  house,  —  built  in  a  circle,  you  see.  Next 
come  the  yellow  stamens,  standing  also  in  a 
circle  :  these  are  the  father  of  the  household,  — 
perhaps  you  would  say  the  fathers,  there  are  so 
many.  They  stand  round  the  mother,  who  lives 
in  the  very  middle,  as  if  they  were  put  there  to 
protect  and  take  care  of  her.  And  she  is  the 
straight  little  pistil,  standing  in  the  midst  of  all. 
The  children  are  seeds,  put  away  for  the  present 
in  a  green  cradle  at  their  mother's  feet,  where 
they  will  sleep  and  grow  as  babies  should,  until 
by  and  by  they  will  all  have  opportunities  to 


158      STORIES  MOTHER  NATURE  TOLD 

come  out  and  build  for  themselves  fine  rose- 
colored  houses  like  that  of  their  parents. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  most  of  the  flowers 
live ;  some,  it  is  true,  quite  differently :  for  the 
beautiful  scarlet  maple  blossoms,  that  open  so 
early  in  the  spring,  have  the  fathers  on  one  tree, 
and  the  mothers  on  another ;  and  they  can  only 
make  flying  visits  to  each  other  when  a  high 
wind  chooses  to  give  them  a  ride. 

The  golden-rod  and  asters  and  some  of  their 
cousins  have  yet  another  way  of  living,  and  it  is 
of  this  I  must  tell  you  to-day. 

You  know  the  roadside  asters,  purple  and  white, 
that  bloom  so  plenteously  all  through  the  early 
autumn?  Each  flower  is  a  circle  of  little  rays, 
spreading  on  every  side :  but,  if  you  should  pull  it 
to  pieces  to  look  for  a  family  like  that  of  the  rose, 
you  would  be  sadly  confused  about  it ;  for  the 
aster's  plan  of  living  is  very  different  from  the 
rose's.  Each  purple  or  white  ray  is  a  little  home 
in  itself ;  and  these  are  all  inhabited  by  maiden 
ladies,  living  each  one  alone  in  the  one  delicately 
colored  room  of  her  house.  But  in  the  middle  of 
the  aster  you  will  find  a  dozen  or  more  little 


GOLDEN-ROD  AND  ASTERS  159 

families,  all  packed  away  together.  Each  one  has 
its  own  small,  yellow  house,  each  has  the  father, 
mother,  and  one  child  :  they  all  live  here  together 
on  the  flat  circle  which  is  called  a  disk  ;  and  round 
them  are  built  the  houses  belonging  to  the  maiden 
aunts,  who  watch  and  protect  the  whole.  This  is 
what  we  might  call  living  in  a  community.  People 
do  so  sometimes.  Different  families  who  like  to 
be  near  each  other  will  take  a  very  large  house 
and  inhabit  it  together  ;  so  that  in  one  house  there 
will  be  many  fathers,  mothers,  and  children,  and 
very  likely  maiden  aunts  and  bachelor  uncles 
besides. 

Do  you  understand  now  how  the  asters  live  in 
communities  ?  The  golden-rod  also  lives  in  com- 
munities, but  yet  not  exactly  after  the  aster's 
plan,  —  in  smaller  houses  generally,  and  these  of 
course  contain  fewer  families.  Four  or  five  of  the 
maiden  aunts  live  in  yellow-walled  rooms  round 
the  outside ;  and  in  the  middle  live  fathers, 
mothers,  and  children,  as  they  do  in  the  asters. 
But  here  is  the  difference  :  if  the  golden-rod  has 
smaller  houses,  it  has  more  of  them  together  upon 
one  stem.  I  have  never  counted  them,  but  you 


160      S 'TORIES  MOTHER  NATURE   TOLD 

can,  now  that  they  are  in  bloom,  and  tell  me  how 
many. 

And  have  you  ever  noticed  how  gracefully  these 
great  companies  are  arranged  ?  For  the  golden- 
rods  are  like  elm-trees  in  their  forms :  some  grow 
in  one  single,  tall  plume,  bending  over  a  little  at 
the  top ;  some  in  a  double  or  triple  plume,  so  that 
the  nodding  heads  may  bend  on  each  side  ;  but  the 
largest  are  like  the  great  Etruscan  elms,  many 
branches  rising  gracefully  from  the  main  stem  and 
curving  over  on  every  side,  like  those  tall  glass 
vases  which,  I  dare  say,  you  have  all  seen. 

Do  not  forget,  when  you  are  looking  at  these 
golden  plumes,  that  each  one,  as  it  tosses  in  the 
wind,  is  rocking  its  hundreds  of  little  dwellings, 
with  the  fathers,  mothers,  babies,  and  all. 

When  you  go  out  for  golden-rod  and  asters,  you 
will  find  also  the  great  purple  thistle,  one  of  those 
cousins  who  has  adopted  the  same  plan  of  living. 
It  is  so  prickly  that  I  advise  you  not  to  attempt 
breaking  it  off,  but  only  with  your  finger-tips 
push  softly  down  into  the  purple  tassel ;  and  if  the 
thistle  is  ripe,  as  I  think  it  will  be  in  these  autumn 
days,  you  will  feel  a  bed  of  softest  down  under  the 


GOLDEN-ROD  AND  ASTERS  l6l 

spreading  purple  top.  A  little  gentle  pushing  will 
set  the  down  all  astir,  and  I  can  show  you  how  the 
children  are  about  to  take  leave  of  the  home  where 
they  were  born  and  brought  up.  Each  seed  child 
has  a  downy  wing  with  which  it  can  fly,  and  also 
cling,  as  you  will  see,  if  we  set  them  loose,  and 
the  wind  blows  them  on  to  your  woollen  frock. 
They  are  hardy  children,  and  not  afraid  of  any 
thing ;  they  venture  out  into  the  world  fearlessly, 
and  presume  to  plant  themselves  and  prepare  to 
build  wherever  they  choose,  without  regard  to  the 
rights  of  the  farmer's  ploughed  field  or  your 
mother's  nicely  laid  out  garden. 

More  of  the  community  flowers  are  the  immor- 
telles, and  in  spring  the  dandelions.  Examine 
them,  and  tell  me  how  they  build  their  houses, 
and  what  sort  of  families  they  have;  how  the 
children  go  away ;  when  the  house  is  broken  up ; 
and  what  becomes  of  the  fathers,  mothers,  and 
aunts. 


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